In the land of Gods and Monsters
by SWhite42
Summary: Simply a Clint and Natasha origin story. Explores the progression of their relationship from enemies, to partners, to friends. Rated T for now, might change later. I will try my best to update regularly, or at least semi-regularly.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: ALL AVENGERS/MARVEL CHARACTERS AND IDEAS BELONG TO THEIR RESPECTIVE OWNERS.**

**Summary: Simply Clint and Natasha's origin story. Title taken from Gods and Monsters by Lana del Rey.**

**Warnings: Slightly rough language, nothing too bad. **

The crowd was thick and bustling. People wove delicately through the streets with an indescribable grace, everybody carrying out their daily lives. Commuters walking briskly to the stations, businessmen chatting animatedly on their phones, teenagers talking loudly, drug dealers working the corners, food vendors serving up their product. All of it is so routine. So normal. Nothing ever changed within the city, the routine's always the same. Except for, of course, when it isn't. High above the living city, on the roof of a warehouse, a routine was being shattered.

It was an average job she was working, nothing special. Simply get in, and get out. She wouldn't have even taken the job if it weren't for the money because she preferred a challenge, but she also preferred to eat. So, the boring job it was. She turned from gazing at the sea of people below her and stepped from the ledge she was perched on, landing softly on the gravel-covered rooftop. She straightened herself and shook her head and shoulders a bit, letting her deep red curls bounce slightly. Her hair fell like a curtain to the small of her back; it was soft, light, beautifully radiant, and a very prominent distinguishing physical feature. She ran two pale hands through it, gathering it all together, and tied it up loose bun. The woman then padded silently over to a single aluminum door near the center of the building. Crouching in front of the door, she reached into a pocket and pulled a small lock picking kit. Carefully selecting two instruments, she began her work. She was interrupted only moments later when she heard the faint sound of gravel underfoot, barely a whisper above the traffic below. She whirled up, removing a pistol from her thigh-holder, and aimed it directly at where the sound had come from. About a hundred yards away from where she was, stood a man. He was about 5'10" and very well built, muscles rippling through his tense body. He was wearing a black tactical suit, much like herself, however he wore vest to prevent any arm restriction. That wardrobe choice was made very obvious as the woman stared down the wrong end of the man's tactical bow. She quickly fixed her gaze upward, locking her brilliant green eyes on his stormy grey ones.

"Natasha Romanoff." He said calmly, his eyes steadfastly boring into her, as if they could pierce the very depths of her soul. It wasn't a question, more of an accusation. She smirked, cocking her head to one side.

"Clint Barton, it sure did take you long enough." An expression of shock replaced Clint's calm demeanor. It was only for a second, but Natasha caught it.

"Oh yes, I know all about you. SHIELD Agent Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton. You've been following me for quite a while." Clint visibly tensed her words, his hand twitching slightly, eager to let his arrow fly. Natasha too flinched slightly, her free hand clenching at her side. Her slight movement drew the attention on Clint's eyes down, no longer focusing on her weapon. In that second she reacted. Clint looked down for a moment, only to hear the sound of a gun being fired from Natasha's weapon, and a sharp twang as the bullet ripped through his bow and taunt bowstring. Clint reacted immediately, dropping his ruined bow and grabbing a pistol. They were back in their previous standoff in seconds. Clint took a step forward, expecting Natasha to take a step back to get her against the door. Instead, she took a step forward, closing the gap between them. It was a dance. There was a certain easiness in the steps they took as they circled each other. Each move was cold and calculated, but each step was completely fluid and perfectly matched. This dance continued until they both were staring directly down the barrel of the other's gun, only an arm's length apart.

"Why are you here?" Natasha asked calmly.

"To kill you." Clint responded matter-of-factly.

"Oh, really?" She replied, quirking one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"Because you're a murder."

"Then, what does that make you?" Natasha lowered her weapon, keeping in loosely in her hand by her side. Clint's eyebrows knitted together, and he scowled at Natasha.

"You're no better than I am, really." She continued.

"I don't kill innocent people." Clint snapped at her.

"Neither do I. Not intentionally at least. I'm the best at what I do, I can afford to be picky about my clients. The target in there," she gestured to the lone door, "is a petty drug dealer who likes 15 year old girls a little more than her should. Now, would the world really be worse off is he just, I don't know, stopped breathing?" Clint lowered his weapon too. She did have a point, he thought, but he quickly shook it off.

"You are a loose cannon, a liability. You kill whoever you want, whenever you want, and that makes you dangerous." Clint raised his weapon again. His gun was suddenly thrown from his hands by a sharp roundhouse kick delivered by Natasha. The gun skittered away as Natasha's fist came hurtling towards Clint's head. Clint caught her arm and twisted it, opening her defensive stance, before punching her in the gut. She doubled over, but quickly recovered, rearing her head to connect sharply with Clint's chin. The force of the blow caused him to take a step back, and Natasha took the opportunity to kick his legs out from under him. As Clint fell to the ground, he pulled Natasha with him and flipped them so he was straddling her. He used his weight on her hips to immobilize her legs, and he pinned her arms above her head with one hand, using the other to retrieve a knife from his tactical. Natasha writhed beneath him, trying to escape. Clint placed the blade at her throat and she stilled. Clint put a slight pressure on the blade and it broke skin, Natasha didn't flinch. Blood pooled around the knife and began to fall in heavy drops down the side of her neck, the bright red sharply contrasting with her pale skin. Clint tore his eyes from her throat to lock eyes with her. Even now they were defiant and cold. But, there was something else there too. Something that made him question what he was about to do, and he couldn't quite place what it was. He looked into her eyes and discovered that this moment is one of those rare defining moments in your life. Where a little decision could drastically change everything. He could kill her, and it would be easy, just a little flick of the wrist and it would be done. But, Clint had seen Natasha. Seen how she works, seen what she does. And, he thinks she's incredible. He's borderline terrified of the woman. She's the best he's ever seen, she's better than he is. She has a skillset and a natural talent in her line of work that's unparalleled, and it would be a shame to waste something like that. Clint made his decision. He broke his routine. In a flash, Clint loosened his grip on Natasha and flipped her so that she was lying on her stomach, handcuffed her behind her back, and hauled her to her feet. Natasha struggled against the restraints.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She demanded angrily.

"You're coming back to base with me." Clint responded as he patted down Natasha, removing her plethora of weapons one by one.

"Why?" She spat angrily at him. He roughly unholstered her guns, and pulled blade after blade off her suit before disengaging and removing her Widow's Bite from her wrists. He gathered her things carefully and stood back up to face her again.

"Well, what can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty face." Clint smirked at Natasha's obvious fury before turning her towards the stairs and shoving her roughly towards them. She caught herself with ease, but didn't move. She pulled her shoulders back and raised her head high. She was too stubborn to let herself be taken, she'd rather die than let herself be bested, so she stood firmly in place. Clint placed a gun against the small of her back, hoping to coax cooperation out of her, but she remained still.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Natasha." Clint warned.

"Do you really have to be so painfully cliché?" Natasha bit back sarcastically. Behind her she heard him dig through a pocket, and a moment later he stepped in from of her with three large zip ties. He used one to bind her ankles, one to bind her thighs, and the other her put around her waist to bind her arms to her back.

"Comfortable?" Clint asked with a small smile that Natasha immediately returned.

"Quite, actually."

"Good." Clint said as he bent down, lifting Natasha up, and practically throwing her over his shoulder. She huffed slightly at the sudden change, but remained silent. He carried her with ease down off the roof to a car parked in an alley where he unceremoniously dumped her in the passenger seat. He slid smoothly into the driver's side, buckling himself, and then reaching into the glove compartment. He pulled out a single hypodermic needle with a basic tranquilizer, and removed the cap.

"Fuck you, Barton." Natasha spit from her seat when she saw what her was holding.

"Is that an invitation, Miss Romanoff?" He retorted with a cheeky smile.

"You wish, sweetheart." She sighed at her head was forced up by rough hands to reveal the veins in her neck. Clint pushed the needle in with a little more force than necessary and pushed down in the plunger. Natasha was out cold in minutes. However, that was a good deal longer than normal for the drug to take effect, but with a woman like that, he wasn't too surprised.

Natasha came to several hours later, and by then Clint had already driven both their asses back to base.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!" Clint called as he reached over an unbuckled her seatbelt. He got out of the car himself, and walked around to the passenger side door, opened it and hauled Natasha out, placing her on her feet. He cut the ties on her ankles and thighs, and she promptly kneed him in the chest. She smirked when she heard the oddly satisfying crack of ribs when her knee made contact.

"Bitch!" He wheezed, struggling to regain his breath. SHIELD agents ran over to their car, which she noticed to be parked in an indoor hangar, but Clint held up a hand to halt their advance. He stood, straightened himself, and stepped behind her. His hand shot out, burying itself in her long hair, twisted and yanked hard, forcing her head back.

"Walk." He commanded through gritted teeth, and shoved her angrily forward causing her to stumble. She caught herself and righted herself before walking determinedly towards where Clint had been gesturing. He followed closely behind her, both of them steadfastly ignoring the blatant stares of the other agents as they passed.

Natasha Romanoff was famous around the SHIELD base. She had been on their radar for a few years and every agent sent to neutralize her came back in a body bag. That's why they sent Clint after her, he was their best, and it even took him over a year to catch her. Needless to say, she was not well liked. She was young, only 19, and already had a rap sheet longer than most senior agents. To a few, it was quite impressive. Clint was one of those few. He led her to the main control room. The minute they entered, the whole room fell silent; people literally dropped what they were doing to stare with open mouths at them. And in the center of the room stood Clint and Natasha, one bearing a mask of triumph, the other, one of complete indifference.

"CLINTON BARTON!" Boomed a voice, as the owner of the voice stormed out of an office. "In my office. Now." He ordered threateningly. "Bring the girl." He added as an afterthought as he turned back into the room he had come from.

Clint gave Natasha a light shove, and she marched forward with her head high.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

When they reached Fury's office, the door was shut tight behind them. Clint forced Natasha into a chair, then took a seat himself next to her.

"Untie her." Ordered Fury. Clint looked at him questioningly.

"Untie her. If she can make it through the heart of SHIELD and to the other side alive, hell, she deserves to be there. Until then, untie her." Clint followed the order dutifully, of course. Natasha scoffed, just another soldier, she thought. Once freed, she stretched her arms out and fluffed her hair slightly, obviously not caring about the two men in the room.

"Miss Romanoff, I presume." Fury, for the first rime, directly acknowledging her.

"You presume correctly, Director Fury." She responded casually.

"How do you know who I am?" Fury was genuinely confused.

"How do I not? You've been after me for 2 years, I've learned things. Let's just say that not all of your agents were a faithful as you would have liked." Natasha was downright grinning, and Fury was pissed.

"I need six armed agents with heavy restraints to escort Miss Romanoff to the holding cells. Now." Fury barked into the PA system. In less than a minute Natasha was being dragged out of Fury's office, and being roughly escorted to the cell block. This left Clint alone with Fury, and honestly, that thought scared him a little.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING BRINGING HER HERE, BARTON?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND!" Fury roared the second the door closed behind Natasha. Clint winced noticeably.

"I thought she would be a valuable asset." He responded meekly.

"You thought what, now?" Fury asked in disbelief.

"She's got a talent and a skillset that's unparalleled. She's more useful to us alive than dead." Clint was strictly professional, not letting any emotion or feeling show. He didn't show Fury that he pitied the girl. He didn't show Fury that all he wanted was to help her, to save her. He remained stoic.

"You disobeyed a direct order, Barton. Don't think that will go unpunished. But, you may have a point. Miss Romanoff, however deadly, may be an asset to us." Clint sighed in relief. "She will be interrogated and evaluated by one of our top psychologists, if she proves useful we'll keep her around, if not, you will end her. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, Sir." Clint responded with a grin as he began to stand up.

"You will not have any contact with Miss Romanoff until we are done with her."

"Yes, Sir." He responded a little more somber. He walked stiffly out of the room, not looking back at Fury. Clint was beyond pissed about this. He brought Natasha here, he should be the one to talk to her. He spent the last year tailing her, he knew her. At least, he knew parts of her. He knew that she always slept on her left side. He knew that she had a habit of twirling her hair around her fingers. It wasn't a nervous or bored habit, just a regular habit. It was a quirk the always kept, even undercover. He knew how she took her coffee, large, dark roast, two cream, three sugar. She shouldn't be left to a bunch of bureaucratic assholes. He should be the one to deal with her. Whatever that entailed.

Meanwhile, Natasha wasn't entirely pleased with her situation either. She had been unceremoniously thrown into a cell by her guards with another woman. She was about her height with pin-straight blonde hair that hung down between her shoulder blades. Natasha looked over her carefully, noticing every detail. Her hair was mussed up a bit, jeans and shirt slightly ripped and frayed, but other than that, she was in mint condition. At least, compared to Natasha she was. Natasha's hair was wrecked, she had multiple cuts in her suit from the zip ties rubbing against her, she was bleeding from her lip, head, and neck, and the places where she had been cuffed and tied were rubbed raw. She stumbled into the cell and immediately put as much distance between herself and the woman. If there was one thing Natasha was certain of at this moment, it was that her cellmate was a SHIELD Agent.

"You can save the act Agent, you're not fooling anybody." Natasha said dryly from the bed.

"How did you know?" She asked taking a seat on the bed across from Natasha.

"You just told me." Natasha smirked triumphantly, and the other woman's face fell.

"So," Natasha continued "do I get the privilege of knowing who I'm talking to or…?"

"Agent Bobbi Morse." She extended her hand to Natasha who looked at it incredulously. Agent Morse let her hand fall back to her side after a while. Agent Morse walked over the bars of the cell and summoned a guard to them.

"Let her out and bring her to interrogation room A." She instructed strictly. The guard looked at her quizzically; his question was soon answered by a reluctant Bobbi Morse.

"There's no use in trying to play against someone who's better than you. It would be better just to take a more direct route with this one." She continued, jerking her head in Natasha's direction. The guard punched a few keys on the keypad next to the cell and requested that five guards come to the cell block to escort Natasha. She was then brought to a room not far from the cell block that contained only a table and two chairs set across from each other. One wall was one-way glass, and the rest concrete. The lighting was too bright and awkwardly artificial. Natasha was roughly shoved into the chair facing the glass wall and her hands were cuffed to a ring on the table. The guards promptly left, locking and barring the door behind them.

Natasha spent the next three weeks being interrogated by various SHIELD agents. They questioned her on everything from her life in the Red Room to the SHIELD agents she had killed. She gave up information, of course, but only enough to get them off her back. She kept most of her information with her, never revealing more than she had to, and lying through her teeth about a lot of it too. And, it was easy for her too. This was, by far, the tamest interrogation she had ever undergone. No mind games, no torture, no sleep deprivation or starvation was involved. It was just straight up ask and answer questioning. She kept all her walls up, she kept herself guarded, she revealed no secrets, no weaknesses, and nothing they didn't already know. But, somehow she still managed to convince them that she was honest with them. It really was an extraordinary talent. After they were all satisfied with what she had told them, she was called into Fury's office.

"Miss Romanoff, take a seat." Fury said casually when she entered the room. She did as she was told stoically and carefully crossed her legs. Everything Natasha did was carefully calculated and perfectly executed. She never did anything without thinking it through thoroughly and without weighing all the possible outcomes. She did everything for a reason, and she was always in control.

"You were brought to SHIELD under unusual circumstances. Nobody has ever gotten off out 'Most Wanted' list in the past, not alive at least. But, it seems there is an exception to every rule. An exception we're willing to make for you." He informed her, almost grudgingly. "You have remarkable talent and skill, we think you could be a very valuable asset to SHIELD. If you say 'yes' to our offer, you will be instated as an Agent of SHIELD on a probationary basis. If you decline our offer, you will be terminated." He finished, looking her directly in her emotionless eyes.

"So, join or die, right?" She asked with a sarcastic tone and an eyebrow quirked incredulously.

"Yes." Fury responded flatly. Natasha sighed heavily.

"Then, I choose join, I guess."

"Good. Find your way to briefing room C for your first assignment." Fury said as he gestured towards his door. Natasha stood up gracefully, righting her shirt, and walked to the door. She hesitated at the door, and turned back to face Fury.

"About my equipment…" She started.

"Your tactical had been repaired and upgraded by our weapons department. Before leaving, you will report to them to retrieve your suit and weapons that were removed from you by Agent Barton." Natasha nodded once and left.

Natasha wove through the mass of hallways and rooms at the SHIELD base, steadfastly ignoring the stares and murmurs that followed her, until she found the briefing rooms. She took a deep breath before turning the knob and pushing the door open. In the room were three agents, one in a suit, and the other two in standard issue tactical gear.

"Take a seat, Miss Romanoff." The man in the suit instructed. "We are waiting for one other agent to arrive to begin briefing. I'm Agent Coulson, I'll be your handler on this mission. This is Agent Hill and Greene, they will provide backup, if necessary." Natasha took a seat farthest from the rest of the agents as possible, and Coulson tossed a file at her across the table. "You can begin looking that over."

Natasha began reading intently to avoid making eye contact or conversation with anybody else in the room. A few minutes later, the last agent walked in. Natasha glanced up when he entered the room, and immediately pushed away from the table to stand up. Her body reflexively set itself in a defensive stance, her eyes practically glowed with rage.

"What the hell are you doing here, Barton?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

"Umm…briefing. Same as you." Clint responded casually, taking the seat opposite Natasha.

"You've got to be fucking me! I'm working with him?!" She practically yelled at Coulson, gesturing wildly in Clint's direction.

"It's not like I'm enjoying it too much either sweetheart, dealing with you is my punishment." Clint responded defensively.

"Damn right, Barton. You brought her here, you deal with her. She's your responsibility now whether you two like it or not. Deal with it." Coulson interrupted firmly. "Now, sit down, and both of you pay attention so we can move this along." Natasha sat back down, fixed her face into a blank, emotionless mask, and fixed herself back on the file in front of her. She could feel Clint staring at her the whole time.

"Miss Romanoff," Coulson began. "to get your false ID's in order, I'll need to know a few things."

"Like?" Natasha responded without looking up.

"How old are you?"

"19." There was a collective hocked intake of breath around the room, but nobody said anything.

"And, your natural hair color?"

"This." She said gesturing towards her deep red hair.

"Natural eye color?"

"Green." She responded, making eye contact with Coulson.

"Thank you. Now, how many SHIELD Agents have you met here?"

"Aside from my unnamed interrogator, the people in this room, Director Fury, and an Agent Morse." Clint visibly stiffened at the last agent's name.

"What the fuck were you thinking Coulson?" Clint shouted angrily as he stood up.

"Well, clearly I've missed something." Natasha said boredly from her chair, flipping casually through the file.

"When did you meet Agent Morse?" Barton demanded angrily. His eyes blazed with barely contained rage as he gripped the table hard enough to where his knuckles were white. Natasha didn't react, she kept he face blank and impassive.

"In the cell block when I first got here. I assume she was sent to get information, but you guys did a really piss-poor job of trying to pass her off as a criminal." She replied nonchalantly. Clint turned his fury back on Coulson.

"YOU PUT MY WIFE IN A CELL WITH HER?!" He roared, shoving the table back. The table connected sharply with Natasha's ribs, and she pushed back from her chair, so that she was standing now too.

"Wife…really? You married that pathetic excuse for a spy?" Natasha asked, smirking. Clint turned back to Natasha, quickly closed the gap between them, and roughly shoved her up against the wall. The two standby agents practically shot across the room to grab Clint. Both Hill and Greene were trying desperately to wretch Clint away from Natasha he closed a hand around her throat and pressed her tightly to the wall.

"What did you say?" Clint's voice was threateningly low. Natasha only smiled, and Clint cracked her against the wall. He let her go and she slunk down to the floor while the other two agents pinned Clint to the adjacent wall. He struggled for a minute, before calming down. They released him and they all went back to righting to room. Natasha had since stood up and was watching Clint intently while he was steadfastly ignoring her. Once the room was back to normal, he took his seat again, as did Natasha.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Barton?" Coulson chimed in. "That little outburst of yours was completely inappropriate! Agent Morse is just that, and agent. Her job is to do what we say, whether you like it or not. So, get over it."

"Yes, sir." Barton replied tersely.

"Good. Now, let's get back to the mission."


	3. Chapter 3

They all returned to the files in front of them and began to look through them. Coulson continued the briefing, and it passed without further incident.

"There's a drug dealer operating in Dublin named Maclaren. He's been steadily moving product to South America, and has so far, avoided government detection. We want you two to kill him, and cripple their operation."

"Umm…That sound nice and all, except that he's not a drug dealer." Natasha interrupted. "Who's your contact on this?"

"What do you mean?" Coulson asked disbelievingly. "He's a drug dealer."

"No, he's not. I did a hit for Patrick Maclaren a few years ago, he's an arms dealer. Got a thing for redheads too." She grimaced slightly at her words. "Who gave you this information?" She asked, tossing the file on the table.

"A man by the name of Dan Ivey. He's working as out contact, and relatively new to the job." Coulson replied.

"Well, piece of advice to you, Danny's a weasel. And an incompetent moron." Natasha said dryly. It wasn't until this moment that either of the backup agents dared to speak.

"Do you know everything or something?" Greene asked disbelievingly.

"Basically, yeah. It's my job." She shot Greene a threateningly glare and he immediately turned his eyes downward.

"Anyways," she continued. "Most of the information in here is dodgy, at best. But, I know enough about Maclaren's operation to make this work. If you don't trust me enough, I wouldn't recommend running this mission at this given point in time. Also, you should find yourself a new contact." She reached across the table to grab a pen and scribbled something on the back of a sheet of paper. "Mark Bouchard." She said simple as she slid a piece of paper with his name and a phone number on it over to Coulson. "He owes me a favor, just tell him you're friends with Nora Roberts." She sat back in her chair and smirked at the room full of shocked faces.

"And you thought I was just a pretty face, Barton." She flashed a quick smile at him, and he managed to resist the strong urge to punch her in the mouth.

"And why should we believe you?" Clint spat from across the table.

"Agent Barton does have a point. "Coulson added. "You're not exactly SHIELD's favorite person right now."

"You should believe me because you're sending my sweet ass to Dublin one way or another, and frankly, I'm not too keen on getting shot anytime soon." She said brusquely, keeping eye contact with Clint the entire time. Their eyes remained locked for several long moments, each refusing to back down, until Coulson cleared his throat and threw them back into focus.

"I'll decide what you two will be doing after I check out the information Natasha has given us. Hill, Greene, follow me. You two will stay here." The two agents stood up and Coulson walked across the room and opened the door. "Try not to kill each other." He added as an afterthought before walking out followed by the two agents, the door shut loudly behind them.

The silence between them was awkward and weighed heavily in the room. The tension was sharp, both parties were stiff and both steadfastly refrained from eye contact. After a while Natasha broke the silence.

"So…you're married, then?" It was awkward.

"Yeah." He replied calmly. "How about you?"

"'How about me' what?" Natasha replied quickly.

"Anyone special in the life of The Black Widow?" Clint asked smirking, Natasha chuckled lightly, he head hanging down slightly before finally making eye contact with him again.

"What do you think?"

"I'm gonna have to go with 'no' on this one."

"Smart boy, Clinton."

"Why are you here?" He asked suddenly.

"Because you brought me here." She responded angrily.

"They gave you a choice, didn't they?" Clint really had no idea what happened to her in those three weeks, and Natasha was beginning to realize that.

"Yeah, join or die. It really wasn't much of a choice." Clint opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Coulson, Hill, and Greene returning.

"I'm glad to see that you are both still breathing." Coulson said dryly. "You will both be on a plane to Dublin in one hour. Pack you things and be in the hangar in 50 minutes. A new file will be compiled while you two are gone and you will receive it before you leave. Clint, take Miss Romanoff to get her gear in order, then get settled yourself. See you then." He turned and briskly left the room.

Clint stiffened at his instructions, but stood up nonetheless.

"Follow me, Miss Romanoff." He said curtly. She exhibited the same stiffness, but followed all the same. They walked in stony silence through the building, eyes following the both of them. Apparently SHIELD agents have nothing better to do than stare obnoxiously at other people, Natasha thought dryly. When they finally found their way to the weapons room, Natasha was impressed, though she didn't show it. The room was large, and had a slightly blue tinge to the lighting of it. Rows upon rows of various weapons lined the room on shelves and on the walls. Everything you could ever want to kill a person was there. Natasha was in heaven.

Clint lead them to two SHIELD agents working over a table. On the table was everything Clint had removed from Natasha when he cuffed her. Her tactical was on a rack not too far away.

"Some of this weaponry is very advanced." One of the agents commented to Natasha, she replied with a bored stare.

"This," he continued, holding up her Widow's Bite "is very interesting. If I may ask, what does it do, exactly?"

"You may not ask." Natasha growled tersely. "And, I suggest you put it down before you get yourself killed." The agent immediately deposited the object back on the table. He took a step back, and Natasha smirked. Clint decided to step in at this point.

"Your suit, your weapons." He said, gesturing to both in turn. He then pointed to a small door about 10 feet away. "You can get dressed in there."

Natasha took her suit and went to change, grateful to be rid of the clothes SHIELD had dressed her in. She felt comforted by the familiar delicate pressure on her skin exerted by her suit. Once finished, she padded barefoot back to the table, and slipped on a pair of black socks, then her boots. She felt the eyes of all three agent in the room on her as she finished getting ready. She stretched a little before strapping all her weapons on, pulling her arms across her chest in turn, and shaking them loosely. She cracked all her knuckles and her neck before starting to attach her weapons. First she strapped her gun holster around her hips, and buckled the strap on her left thigh before she checked and placed a .45 handgun in the holster. She paused for a moment, and took the gun back out of it's place to examine it more carefully. Natasha disassembled then reassembled the gun before placing it back in it's spot. It took her less than a minute. She did the exact same thing for the holster on her right leg. She then picked up her set of small throwing blades and slipped then into their spot on the belt of her gun holster along with additional rounds of ammo. She looked at the four identical knives on the table, picked each one up individually to inspect them before tucking them in her boots, two in each. Next, she strapped her Widow's Bite to her wrists, left first, then right. Finally, she picked up the last remaining article on the table. It was a simple black belt with a red and black center. She gently wrapped around herself and buckled it around her waist.

She took the utmost care with her weapons. Each was carefully handled an inspected before being placed in their spots. It was a ritual for her, the calm before a storm. Clint and the other agents stood and watched, mesmerized by her actions. When she was finally done she stood up straight and shook her hair back.

"Ready?" Clint asked flatly. Natasha nodded once and followed him as he left the room. Clint broke their cold silence as they walked through the halls, Natasha was next to him now, only half a step behind.

"About civilian clothes, you have..." he was cut short by Natasha.

"I have an apartment in the city, if I'm permitted to leave." She explained. She could feel his eyes on her, but kept her blank gaze fixed ahead of her as they walked.

"You have an apartment in the city?"

"Yes, I find myself in New York more often than I would like.. There's a lot of people who seem to piss off the wrong people here." She shrugged slightly.

"I've been following you for a year, how come I didn't ever see you there?"

"One, I knew you were following me, so anything you saw I wanted you to see. Two, you have. Did it even ever occur to you that I would have a place of residence? Also, you probably wouldn't have guessed that I would lived there." She kept her bored monotone, showing no emotion or interest or anything. Clint was having a very difficult time reading her.

"Then, we'll go pick up your things now."

"We?" She asked incredulously.

"You don't think I'd leave you on our own in a big scary city like New York, now did you, sweetheart? It'd be downright irresponsible for me to leave a lady, such as yourself on her own." Clint replied sarcastically, smiling broadly as her blank face morphed into a glare. A second later, Clint wheezed as Natasha's elbow connected with his ribs, and he was pinned against the nearest wall before he recovered with Natasha's hand wrapped tight around his throat.

"I'm not your fucking sweetheart, you arrogant dick." Her voice was low and threatening, her emerald eyes burning with hatred.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE!" A shrill voice called down from the hall, Natasha turned to see the bouncing blonde that was Bobbi Morse, Clint's wife jogging towards them. When Natasha broke eye contact, Clint took the opportunity to push back against Natasha, reversing their positions.

"You should learn to keep your temper in check around here, Miss Romanoff." His voice shook with barely contained rage as her spoke to her. Natasha smiled, and promptly kneed him in the groin. She vaguely registered a shriek of protest from Bobbi. As Clint doubled over in pain, she sharply brought her elbow down between his shoulder blades, and he hit the floor. Bobbi rushed to Clint, brushing shoulders with Natasha as she passed. As Bobbie kneeled next her husband, Natasha stood over both of them, with her feet apart and arms crossed over her chest mixed with her triumphant smile, she looked positively frightening. Clint was beginning to understand where her reputation came from.

Natasha stepped gingerly over Clint's fallen body, still smiling, and continued walking down the corridor.

"Gonna lie there all day, Agent Barton? We've got things to do!" She called sweetly over her shoulder. Clint cringed, but stood up and moved to follow her. He was halted by Bobbi as he began walking.

"What the hell was that!" She demanded, angrily.

"Umm..." He rubbed his neck nervously. "A little disagreement between partners, no big deal."

"PARTNERS!" Bobbi screeched.

"Yeah, Fury assigned her to me."

"Why would he do that?! You've never had a successful partnership with anybody here!"

"Because I brought her here, so dealing with her is my punishment." Clint grumbled.

"Why did you bring her here in the first place? Seriously, Clint. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that she's 19 years old, and just completely floored me. She's better than all of us, wasting her would just be fucking stupid. I've got to run, we're leaving in 45 minutes for a mission." He took a deep breath to calm himself, then wrapped his arms around his wife's waist and puller her into a hug. "I'll be back in a few days." He whispered, the kissed her before releasing her, and turning to follow Natasha.

"Gotta say, I'm not a huge fan of your lady." Clint jumped slightly as he rounded the corner, and almost ran into Natasha.

"I could really care less what you think." Clint snapped back. "Let's just get this over with."

"That's the spirit!" Natasha quipped sarcastically as Clint began to walk off. She followed him back to the hanger where they first arrived and to a black SUV, one of like 100. Clint unlocked the car and got into the passenger seat. Natasha was a little surprised, but got into the driver's seat without question. They drove in silence to her apartment. When they got there, Clint scoffed slightly.

"You would live here." He said bitterly.

"What can I say? I do love a good game." She tossed a sly smile at him over her shoulder as she climbed the front steps of the building.


	4. Chapter 4

This, of course, was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in New York. Not only that, but also, this was only a few blocks away from where Clint lived. Not only Clint though, a lot of SHIELD agents lived in the area. Each agent is given an apartment as part of their terms of employment, and it sometimes caused clusters of agents in one area or neighborhood.

He did have to admit, she had guts. To move into an area practically crawling with people who want you dead is a bold move. He followed closely behind as she approached the outside door and punched a key code into the box. When the door buzzed, she pushed in forward and began her climb to the fourth floor. She knelt down in front of door 403 and fiddled around in her pocket for a minute before pulling out a small lock picking set and selecting two of it's many tools.

"Really? You're breaking into your own apartment?"

"Well, yeah. I lost the key a while back and figured that I shouldn't even bother replacing it. I'd just lose it again, and I can already pick the lock. So..." She trailed off as the door lock clicked open. She stood back up, replacing the lockpick and pushed the door open. Clint was a little surprised by what he saw.

He was standing in an open living room with a kitchen off to the left separated by a granite counter, to the right there were two doors that he assumed were bedrooms. Her apartment was simply, but nicely furnished, embellishments were minimal. It was neat and clean, everything was kept in neat order. She walked straight to one of the doors on the right, that did in fact turn out to be a bedroom. He followed her closely. Her bed was simply, but sturdy clad in simple white cotton sheets with a deep blue comforter. There were four pillows on the bed all in white pillow cases. At the foot of her bed was a modern oak chest with a lock.

"What's in there?" Clint asked, gesturing towards the chest.

"If I told you, that would kind of defeat the purpose of the lock." She responded sarcastically as she opened a dresser on the far wall, and pulled a duffel bag out from under her bed. He leaned on her door frame as he watched her carelessly throw clothes into the bag. After she had packed her clothes she reached under her bed and pulled out bin of shoes out from under her bed and tossed a few different pairs in, Clint didn't really take notice to what she was packing. Finally she stood up and collected a few things from the top her dresser like hair products and makeup. He looked at her curiously as she picked up a tube of lipstick and examined it carefully with a look of uncertainty on her face before uncapping it and sniffing it. She shrugged and tossed it in her bag with the rest of her things before hoisting it over her shoulder.

"Ready?" Natasha nodded once as she walked towards the door. Clint turned and made his way to the front door of the apartment. Natasha fiddled with the lock on the handle before closing the door behind them and used her lockpick set to lock the deadbolt after they were in the hallway. She led the way back down to the car, tossing her things into the backseat before climbing back into the driver's seat. Once Clint was in, she put the car in gear and began driving, but away from SHIELD's base.

"Where are you going?" Clint asked stiffly from the seat. Just being in the same space as Natasha made him very uncomfortable, and having her in control made him downright panicky.

"Your apartment." She said flatly. "Unless, of course, you'd rather wear your tactical the entire time we're there."By the time their exchange in the car they had arrived at Clint's apartment. He hastily got out of the car, staked to the driver's side door, and violently yanked it open. He practically dragged Natasha out of the car by her hair.

"Fucking hell, Barton!" She yelled as she wrested herself from his grip and shoved him hard. "What is your goddamn problem?"

"My problem? How do you know so fucking much about me?"

"Really?" Natasha smirked and folded her arms across her chest. "You were following me for an entire year. You think I wouldn't do my research?" She scoffed.

"You stay away from my home and my wife. Understand?" Natasha simply rolled her eyes, he responded by shoving her hard against the car and pointing a gun at her stomach.

"Understood." Natasha gritted through her teeth. Clint swiped the keys out of her hand, and turned to walk up the steps to his apartment.

"You will stay with the car." He said as he marched up the front step.

"Yeah, because I could never hot wire a car!" She called after him, followed by a huff as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the car. Clint emerged 15 minutes later to a bored Natasha twirling her hair around a slender finger.

Ten minutes later they were both standing by a private plane in the hangar with two new intel files in their hands.

"It's a long flight," Coulson explained. "You can go over the new file and talk about how you're going to complete your assignment. Call me if anything goes wrong." He gave Clint a pointed look then turned to gaze sternly at Natasha. "And, Miss Romanoff, I recommend you behave yourself." With that he turned and left, leaving both agents standing stiffly beside each other.

Shortly after their exchange with Coulson they boarded the plane, seating themselves as far away from each other as possible, and began to look over their new files. About six hours later, Clint approached Natasha.

"We're going to land in about an hour, you should change into civilian clothes." He said, taking the seat across from her.

She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag from the seat next to her, and made her way to the back of the plane. When she emerged again about 10 minutes late Clint's jaw nearly hit the floor. He had only ever seen her in her tactical and the ill-fitting clothes SHIELD provided for her, what he was seeing now was something new all together.

He noticed her shoes first. Black, patent leather, stiletto pumps. Impractical, but hot. As for the rest of her clothes, she wore a pari of dark wash skinny jeans, a simple thin, white t-shirt, and a fitted black, leather jacket. Everything she wore fit her perfectly, highlighting the best parts of her body. Her bright red curls hung perfectly to her waist, bouncing and swaying with every step. He makeup was done minimally, a little mascara and blush. Her lips were painted a bright red and she was absolutely stunning.

Clint mentally kicked himself for thinking like that. Not only was she the single most infuriating person he had ever met, but she was also 19 years old. It was something that he kept forgetting, that she was still so young. She didn't look like it, and she certainly didn't act like it, not that he expected her to. She had committed some horrible acts, some by her own choice, but most of them weren't. He guessed she'd also seen her fair share of evil too. She seemed years beyond her age because of it, and years beyond his. He continued to stare at the girl 14 years his junior, lost in thought about the secrets she still his from them.

"Shut your mouth, Barton." She snapped as she caught him staring.

"You're supposed to blend in, not cause a traffic accident." He grumbled as she took her seat across from him.

"I'm flattered you think I'm traffic accident worthy, but I'm sure that won't be a problem." She responded dryly.

"You're shoes are impractical." Clint stated simply.

"Not as much as you might think. A stiletto to the temple probably isn't the most pleasant feeling in the world, though I'm only guessing." Clint cringed at the thought.

"About the mission, " Clint began. "We'll three days to complete the job, I figure that leaves a day for intelligence gathering, then two days to carry out a plan. But, you're the one with the contact, what do you know?"

"I know Maclaren's looking for an assassin. I know I've worked for him before, and I know he's quite fond of me. It's an easy way in. It has the potential to give us free and easy access to the target himself, as well as the base of his organization."

"Us? Sounds like a way in for you, not me."

"I'll tell him I've taken up a partner."

"And he'll believe that?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? I'm sorry, but maybe isn't really gonna cut it here, Natasha."

"Listen, he needs me. More than that, he wants me. If I say you stay or I walk, he'll gladly accept you."

"How can you be certain?"

"Because small men hiding behind big guns are always the same."

"And how's that?"

"Pathetic scum-sucking bastards who cling desperately to the warmest female body in sight." She spat bitterly, leafing through the file to avoid eye contact.

"Are you speaking from experience, Tasha?" Clint asked softly.

"Don't call me Tasha, Barton" She warned dangerously.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not my damn name."

"You never answered my question, Natasha?"

"I've arranged for us to meet with him tomorrow, the meeting's friendly, but we won't be allowed any weapons. Don't bother with your tactical."

"Stop changing the subject." Clint was getting frustrated now. She looked up from the final to lock eyes with him.

"I have told SHIELD all I care to about my past. The fact that I haven't mentioned it means it is insignificant and irrelevant and in no way effects my ability to complete this task. So, I suggest you drop it." Natasha's tone was firm and unyielding, it left no room for argument. Clint broke their eye contact and looked at his feet. He looked up again a moment later to find Natasha's eyes still boring into him.

"So you expect us to walk into a ring of arms dealers with no problems, whatsoever?" Clint asked disbelievingly.

"Yes." Natasha replied simply.

"Well, alright. Good, that's fucking perfect." He remarked frustratedly, dropping his head in his hands.

"You got a better plan?" Clint sighed heavily.

"No."

"Then we stick to my plan."

They landed about an hour later and got a taxi from the airport to their hotel. Clint and Natasha didn't speak the entire way.

"Nice digs for once." Clint commented when they arrived at their room. "Usually I get stuck in dank apartments or skeevy motels. The last one charged by the hour."

Natasha was steadfastly ignoring him as she surveyed the room. She then carefully inspected every inch of the room, Clint didn't know what for, but her let her. If it put her at ease, good, if she could just relax it would do both of them some good. She laid her stuff on the bed farthest from the window and began rummaging through it, pulling out a few things.

"I'm going to take a shower." She stated simply. "Oh and, try to look presentable tomorrow. I prefer business casual when I meet with clients." She added as an afterthought before disappearing into the bathroom.

Natasha emerged an hour later dressed simply in black cotton shorts and grey tank top. Clint could also see the barest hints of a pink sports bra through her shirt, but she didn't seem to care. She was toweling her hair of as she padded gently across the room to her bag. Clint, who was seated cross-legged on the other bed, watched her every move.

"I suggest you stop staring, Agent Barton." She snapped at him.

"Jesus, Spidey. Do you have eyes in the back of your head?" She turned angrily on her heels to face him, a knife clenched in her hand.

"What did you call me?" She demanded, her voice shaking with anger and her grip tightening.

"Woah, calm down. I was only teasing, Natasha." Clint responded by putting his hands up, partly in surrender, and partly in defense.

"Spidey?"

"Well, yeah. The Black Widow, spider..." He trailed off as her eyes narrowed.

"It's Natasha, or the Black Widow. You try to give me some ridiculous nickname one more time and I'll break your face. Understand?"

"What's your deal with nicknames? Natasha's kind of a mouthful you know."

"That sounds like a personal problem, I'm sure you'll learn to deal with it." She hardened her glare, and Clint swore that it would make any other man weep.

"Alright, no nicknames." He dropped his hands on his lap in defeat.

"Glad we understand each other." She remarked dryly, turning her back on him. They resumed their typical tense silence as she put some product in her hair, grabbed the file, then moved to sit on the couch. She collapsed onto the cushions with an odd sort of grace and squirmed a little until she was seated cross-legged with the file on her lap. She settled herself in, twirling her damp, red hair around her fingers delicately , going over the file again. Again. She had probably read that thing at least a dozen times, he didn't understand why she was reading it again. He didn't understand a lot of what she did, and that fascinated him. She was good at hiding things, but he was determined to learn how to read her. He fell asleep studying her closely.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint was woken up early by the dull ringing of his alarm. He sat up slowly and stretched, his eyes darting over to Natasha's bed. He practically leaped off his bed when he noticed it was empty.

"You alright, Barton?" Natasha's familiar voice floated calmly over to him and he relaxed considerably.

"What? Afraid I walked out on you?"

"Something like that, yeah." He grouched, rubbing his eyes. He sat back down on his bed and looked up at her. She, of course, was already dressed and ready. And, of course, she looked perfect.

She was dressed simply, but nicely in a pair of cream contrast trousers, with a perfectly fitted white collared shirt tucked in and belted with a dark brown belt. Instead of outrageous shoes, this time she wore plain gold flats. He noticed a medium length brown trench coat hanging over the chair at the desk, and a brown and gold watch on her wrist. She had pulled her long hair into a sleek, bouncing ponytail, and her makeup was done lightly.

"I suggest you start getting ready, Barton. We're leaving in 45 minutes."

45 minutes later Clint and Natasha emerged from their hotel, looking fresh and ready for their meeting with Maclaren.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Clint asked nervously when they had pulled up in a taxi outside Maclaren's warehouse.

"Positive, now shut up and let me talk." She replied tensely. The next second all her tension melted away and was replace with a stern, but calm mask. She took a deep breath and opened the door, Clint followed her lead.

He didn't like having her in charge, at least that's what he told himself. However, his instincts lead him to follow her easily. Some part of him felt drawn towards Natasha, and not unsurprisingly. She was a very compelling woman. But, the easiness with which he trusted her also lead him to distrust her. He was caught in a Catch-22, but there was no time to sort it out now. All Clint could do was follow his partner.

They were greeted upon exiting the taxi by four armed guards who patted them down thoroughly.

"Watch where you put those hands, mate." Natasha warned when one of them got a little to frisky with her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint tense. His actions confused her, well, more than that, he confused her. Nothing he did made sense to her, she couldn't read him as easily as she could other people, and he smiled too much. She didn't trust him, but she was stuck with him.

"Follow us, Miss Romanoff." One of the guards, clearly the leader, instructed once they were finished. The small company made their way to the back of the warehouse and up a flight of stairs to a spacious office on the second floor. Both agents took careful mental notes of everything they passed. Just before they entered the office Clint felt a slight brush against his hand and clenched it reflexively. Inside his hand was a slip of paper. He looked up and made eye contact with Natasha, and she gave the barest of nods. He slyly looked into his hand to read the note.

_When in doubt, know your way out._

Seven little words scrawled hastily on a scrap of paper from a nineteen year old ex Russian spy, and it was the best piece of advice he had ever been given. He never really thought about things like that given that, as a sniper, he was usually out to begin with. Then, something dawned on him. Natasha and him were paired not only as a punishment, but because they were opposites. Clint preferred simple assassinations from a distance while Natasha was much more up close and personal fighter. They complimented each other. Now that's not to say Clint can't fight hand-to-hand and Natasha can't snipe, but it was about their specialties and their preferences. She was a brilliant con and seductress, she'd seen him charm countless marks. Senators, businessmen, drug lords, men and women alike fell under her spell. Clint, he was straight to business, get in and get out kinda guy. He was snapped out of his thoughts as Maclaren greeted Natasha.

"Miss Romanoff, it's been too long." He said loudly as they entered the room. Patrick Maclaren was a man of about 40-45, reasonably attractive with short blond hair an a matching well-trimmed beard. He wore a simple grey wool suit with a white shirt and navy tie. Natasha kept her face blank and emotionless.

"I'm only here to do a job, Maclaren, nothing more. I prefer to get straight to this." She told him calmly, but sternly.

"Of course, Natasha. You and your partner may take a seat." He gestured to two comfy looking leather chairs in front of a desk.

"I'd prefer it if you'd refer to me as Miss Romanoff." Natasha informed him as she sat down.

"Surely we can drop the formalities among friends."

"Except that we're not friends. You are my client in a business transaction, nothing more, and I aim to keep it that way." Her voice no longer gentle, but threatening and dark.

"And if I would like to pursue something more than a strictly business relationship..." Maclaren was no longer smiling, and Clint was getting antsy.

"Then, I walk." She stated matter-of-factly, shrugging slightly.

"Very well then, Miss Romanoff." Maclaren smiled again as he took a seat behind his desk. "Let's discuss the job I have for you. But, first, who's your friend?" He jerked his head in Clint's direction.

"We're hardly friends. This is my partner, Carter Bailey."

"Partner?" He asked disbelievingly. "Since when does the Black Widow work with a partner?"

"Since she found one who knows the right people in the right places."

"Can he be trusted?"

"That remains to be seen." Well, at least she was honest. "Now, what's the job?"

They spent the next hour going over the hit that Maclaren wanted done. It was the leader of a police task-force that were looking into their business. Maclaren believed he was closing in on them, but had no intention of picking up and moving their operation. That left only one alternative, kill the guy. They were instructed to kill him in a subtle way, no guns. This meant some variant of poison or medically induced heart attack. Hits like that, for most, were trickier, but they just happened to be Natasha's specialty.

When their meeting had finished, all three stood up to shake hands and get paid; they were receiving half the money upfront. When they turned to leave, Maclaren called out to Natasha.

"May I have a word with you alone before you leave, Miss Romanoff?" Clint looked at her sternly. There was no way he was letting stay alone with this guy, he didn't trust her that much. Natasha saw the warning in his eyes, but ignored it. If she played this right, this would give them the perfect opportunity to take him out.

"Of course." Clint shot a look that said "I'm going to fucking kill you violently." And she just rolled her eyes. She stayed standing where she was near the center of the room while Clint was escorted out by Maclaren's men. He was left standing outside the office, watching Natasha and Maclaren through the glass wall that separated them, but he couldn't see her face.

"Your attitude towards our relationship has changed since we last met, Miss Romanoff." Maclaren was seriously in Natasha's personal space, she knew where this was headed.

"What do you want, Maclaren?" Natasha was already 2000% done with this man.

"You know very well what I want, I want to take a little walk down memory lane with you. That was one hell of a night." His eyes glazed over as he was lost in his own memories.

"And why should I?" She replied defiantly.

"Because," he reached up to brush back a piece of her hair. "I know you left the Red Room, and I know they're looking for you. It'd be a shame if they caught up to you in Dublin, now wouldn't it?" Natasha didn't say anything, and she kept her face blank.

"I'll see you tomorrow at 7, Miss Romanoff." He smiled, a sickening smile that made her want to vomit and turned back to his desk. She turned to see Clint on the other side of the glass, he had been watching the whole thing...

Natasha was still standing in the center of the room, and Maclaren had advanced so that he was about a foot away from her. He watched in disgust as his eyes roamed hungrily over her body, he couldn't make out what he was saying, but he was confident it wasn't about the hit. Maclaren brought his hand up to brush a piece of her hair back and Natasha flinched ever so slightly, he doubted Maclaren would have even noticed. He saw Natasha nod her head, then turn on her heels, her face was blank.

"What the hell was that about, Natasha?" Clint whispered angrily in her ear as they began walking with their escorts.

"Shut up and walk." She breathed out through her teeth.

Once they were back on the street, Natasha quickly began walking down towards a main street.

"Where are you going?" Clint asked walking briskly beside her.

"To a main road, unless you want to walk all the way back to the hotel."

"Carter Bailey?"

"It was the first name I could think of."

"Why didn't you just tell them my real name?"

"That puts you at unnecessary risk."

"Awww! You do care!" He joked lightly.

"Not really. If you're at risk, so am I."

"They know your real name."

"That was something out of my control."

"What happened the last time you were here." Natasha wasn't really expecting that, at least not so suddenly.

"Drop it, Barton." Her voice was rang with finality, but he didn't drop it.

"What happened between you and Maclaren." No response.

"Did you sleep with him?" Still no response from Natasha.

"You did, didn't you?"

"Don't ask stupid questions, Barton." She snapped darkly at him.

"How old were you?"

"Can you shut up for five goddamn minutes?!" Her frustrated outburst surprised Clint, she was usually had so much control over herself.

"Answer my question and I'll consider it."

"You're pathetic."

"That's not an answer." He countered.

"Alright." She stopped walking and faced him. "If you must know, I was 15." Clint didn't even try to hide his reaction from her. It was a mixture of complete shock and pity. Natasha continued walking, she hated pity.

"That's disgusting."

"You really know how to make a girl feel good." She shot back sarcastically.

"On his part, more than yours."

"That doesn't really help."

"He's more than twice your age! You could be his daughter!"

"I'm aware." Natasha responded dryly.

"Why?"

"It was part of the job." She said it as if it was normal. And for her, it was. That thought saddened Clint deeply.

"And you'll do anything for the job won't you?" Clint asked abruptly

"As long as it keeps me alive, yes." She responded softly, and Clint dropped it.

They continued to walk, but this time in silence, both were lost in thought. Clint thought about Natasha, and her past. He was desperately curious about it. He wanted to know what could have possibly made her this way. What could have twisted and warped this young girl into a trained killer? But, he knew she would never tell him. She was secretive and reserved, she kept everything very close to her chest, and he didn't really blame her. However, it didn't stop him from being curious. Natasha was similarly thinking about Clint. Though, her thoughts were less directed on his past, and more towards wondering why he was such a goddamn nosy bastard. And, towards the last time she was in Dublin almost 5 years ago. She'd be lying if she said she didn't remember it, she had nearly perfect recall, but that didn't mean she had to tell her partner about it. Other than what she learned while he was tailing her, and what she found out from SHIELD agents, she knew virtually nothing about him. His most outstanding quality was his incredible record for insubordinations, and that is a giant red flag for her. When they finally made their way to a more inhabited street, it was almost noon.

"Lunch?" Clint asked as they climbed into a cab.

"Sure." He was surprised by her easiness, but glad she wasn't pissed at him. About 10 minutes later she smiled, and a slight chuckle escaped her lips. It both intrigued and frightened Clint.

"Why are you so suddenly happy?" He asked nervously.

"Because - pull over here -" she instructed the driver. "I have a plan." She finished as she exited the car.


	6. Chapter 6

Thirty minutes later both of them were sitting with food in front of them, Natasha was as calm as ever, but Clint was just the opposite. He was anxious to hear Natasha's plan, and she had been stalling for the past freaking half an hour.

"What's you damn plan, Natasha." He snapped as their waiter left.

"Someone's impatient." She grumbled in response.

"Someone's irritating as fuck."

"Alright, alright. Just calm down. The plan, is relatively simple actually."

"How so?"

"Well, I can easily get Maclaren alone for a while. Away from his henchmen and away from his operations."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Clint interrupted with an accusatory stare.

"I'm going to challenge him to a game of chess. How do you think, dumbass?" Clint was convinced he had been partnered with the single most annoyingly sarcastic human being on the planet.

"I could do without the sarcasm."

"And I could do without the stupid questions."

"Anyways, that only takes care of Maclaren, not his entire operation."

"That's where this comes in." She retrieved a small, blue flashdrive from her pocket and set it on the table in front of them.

"Where did you get that?"

"I palmed it off Maclaren's desk when we were in his office." Clint was taken aback a bit, he hadn't even seen her slip the drive, and he was watching her pretty carefully.

"What's on it?"

"Don't know, but if it's in his personal office, it's important."

"What do you intend to do with the drive?"

"I intend to give it the detective in charge of the task force looking into Maclaren."

"Where do I fit in with this whole plan, sounds like your doing an awful lot."

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes, it is. I don't trust you."

"We both know that's a lie."

"What?" Clint was genuinely surprised, and naturally defensive.

"We wouldn't be here if you didn't. Anyways, I'm supposed to be meeting Maclaren tonight at a hotel, he'll bring two bodyguards with him. I'll need you to take both of them out so I can leave the building unnoticed after I take care of Maclaren. After that, we can simply deliver the drive to our friendly detective. Maclaren just gave us all the information on where he'll be for the next three days."

"How do you know about Maclaren's guards."

"He's a creature of habit." She looked up from her food at Clint, and she hated what she saw.

"Stop that." She warned.

"What?" Clint asked defensively.

"Looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He was beyond confused at this point.

"Like you pity me. I hate pity." She spat bitterly.

"It's hard not to, Natasha." He responded quietly, avoiding her piercing gaze. She slammed her hand down on the table suddenly, drawing the attention of the people seated nearby.

"Then do us both a favor and keep it to yourself." She growled out. Clint looked up and locked eyes with her, they stayed staring at each other for several long moments.

"Is everything alight here?" Their silence was interrupted by their waiting looking at them concernedly.

"We're fine." Clint snapped without breaking his eye contact with Natasha. The waiter quickly retreated back to kitchens, looking a little scared. Clint and Natasha resumed their previous standoff.

"Let's get back to the mission." Natasha finally ground out after a while.

"Fine."

They spent the next hour and a half discussing the finer details of Natasha's plan. Clint hated to admit that Natasha had a brilliant mind for this sort of thing, He would take out the guards, then set up with his bow in the office building across the street as backup to Natasha while she took out Maclaren. Both of them would then make their way to the police precinct where their favorite detective was, flash some SHIELD credentials, and deliver the drive. It was a simple job, they could execute it easily. The only thing Natasha had concerns about was trusting Clint to do his part right, and vice versa, Clint had concerns about Natasha not running the first chance she got.

This tentative partnership was beyond fucked up. Neither of them trusted each other, and with good reasons. Natasha had deep seeded trust issues stemming from her days in the Red Room, not that it was entirely her fault, and they extended to Clint. His insistence on trying to pry into her personal life made her anxious and twitchy, and his goddamn pity just pissed her off. Similarly, Clint didn't really trust Natasha. She was, after all, basically a cold blooded killer with zero regard for authority. Not to mention all the secrets she obviously kept from him, and her never ending string of lies. All that mixed with her stubborn defiance and hot temper made her the last person Clint ever wanted to be partnered with, but here he was.

"How'd you get so good at this?" Clint asked after they had hashed out the final details. It was nearing four by the time they had worked everything through.

"At what?"

"Planning."

"It's my job."

"That's not really the question I asked."

"I'm good at it because I had to be. People who can't think for themselves don't survive long in this business."

"And, how long have you been in this business?" Up until this point the conversation had been casual, and downright civil, but now Natasha had visibly tensed. She was gripping her fork so tightly, it was beginning to warp slightly. She pushed back from the table and stormed angrily away.

"Natasha!" Clint called after her as he stood up, throwing some bills hastily on the table as he left.

"You and your girlfriend have some serious issues." Their waiter commented as Clint began to chase after his partner.

"She's not my goddamn girlfriend." He snapped, shoving roughly past him. The entire restaurant watched in confusion as the unlikely couple exited the building. Clint left their waiting standing there wondering how on Earth the two of them got together, and why. He had been watching them then entire time they were there, and god it was strange. They were the absolute definition of a hot and cold relationship. They would be just fine for decent stretches of time, then in one instant, they were at each other's throats. It was, by far, the strangest relationship he had ever seen.

Clint caught up to Natasha outside, when she heard his heavy footsteps she immediately wheeled around to face him. She felt significantly calmer, but was still royally pissed at him.

"Stop this." She told him sternly.

"Stop what?"

"Stop asking about my life. I have no desire to tell you anything and I'm pretty damn sure you don't want to hear it, so drop it." Her voice shook slightly, but other than that, she seemed to be in complete control. Her voice was low, each word was carefully even and measured. Her eyes were dark and threateningly, and something else Clint couldn't quite place. She was downright scary right now. Then again, she was downright frightening most of the time. He didn't answer her, so she turned and stalked off, hailing a cab. He followed her with a certain uneasiness, keeping his distance.

They climbed into a cab together, completely ignoring each other, and made their way to the hotel. It was around 4:30 when they got back, they spent a good hour and half steadfastly ignoring each other until Natasha got up from her perch on the couch and grabbed some stuff from her bag.

"What are you doing?" Clint asked as he watched her move delicately around the room.

"Getting ready."

"Ready for what?"

"My meeting with Maclaren." She said simply as she disappeared into the bathroom. She emerged half an hour later wearing a simple strapless black dress that came down to her mid-thigh and familiar black heels from the day before. Her long red hair was pinned into a loose, but elegant looking bun, and her makeup was done more heavily than normal. She walked across the room to her to her bag as she put in a pair of simple, diamond stud earrings.

"We have to leave soon." Clint informed her as she put the final touches on her outfit, finishing with a spray of delicate, floral perfume.

"What's with the getup?" He quirked an eyebrow in her direction.

"It's part of the job." She grabbed one of the comms off the desk and swept out of the room. Clint, already dressed in his tactical with his bow in it's case, followed her closely. When they exited the lobby, he watched concernedly as she climbed into a cab and drove off. Clint himself got the next cab, following her to the hotel where she was meeting Maclaren. He exited across the street while she got out at the entrance.

Natasha was greeted by a large guard who patted her down discretely, Clint's jaw clenched as the man's hands roamed his partner's body, checking for weapons. Once he was finished she was slyly passed a room key and entered the lobby, she disappeared behind the large doors, and Clint set to work.

"Watch yourself." He spoke into the comms and he darted into an alley. He removed his bow from it's case, and slung it and his quiver over his shoulder before working his way to the alley next to the hotel. He knew the guards were making regular passes through the alley as part of their watch, so he flattened against the shadows and waited. A few minutes passed and a guard entered the alley, once he was completely surrounded in the darkness Clint dropped him with a single arrow to the chest. Clint moved from his hiding place to drag the body behind a nearby dumpster, then returned. It was only a mattered of time before the second guard came to investigate his missing partner. When he did, he me a similar fate.

"Room 813" He Natasha breathe out through his comms. He quickly and quietly made his way to the building opposite and set up across from room 813. He could clearly see Natasha in the window.

While Clint was busy taking out the guards, Natasha was mentally preparing herself to take down Maclaren. She was frisked a little too roughly for her tastes outside the hotel and slipped the keycard to Maclaren's room. When she entered the building she told Clint the room number, barely moving her lips as she breezed into the lobby. When she was finally outside Maclaren's room she paused and took a deep breath. _You can do this, Natasha_. She thought to herself._ You've done this a thousand times before._ She took another deep breath and straightened her shoulders. _Except you never had The Hawk watching you before._ Her brain added as an afterthought. She shook it off as she swiped the keycard in the door.

"I'm in position." She heard Clint through her comms as she walked in. Her eyes first caught Maclaren sitting in an oversized chair, cocktail in hand. When she entered he set his drink down on the table beside him with a predatory smile that made Natasha's blood boil. She hated this, even more knowing that Agent Barton was watching her every move. Still she went on, walking seductively over to him with a sly smile on her face.

Meanwhile, Clint had set himself up properly in the building opposite and watched the exchange between Maclaren and Natasha. Clint saw for the first time the huge difference between Natasha and the Black Widow. Right now, she was the Black Widow and that thought scared him. He was partnered with a woman with two very distinct personalities. Natasha was rough and edgy and cold, but she was human. There was a softness about Natasha that he felt. The Black Widow was much different. She was cold and hard as rock, unbent, and unbroken. The Black Widow was a calm, collected, and deadly weapon. A fine tuned instrument used as the downfall of others. She was cruel and unforgiving, there was no room for mercy in the Black Widow.

Natasha, Natasha Clint could deal with. Underneath Natasha was a human being, he knew that even if no one else did. She still had some humanity, or else she never would have left the Red Room. Clint thought about that for a long while when she first arrived. Escaping the Red Room couldn't have been easy. In fact, it was probably a lot harder than he could ever imagine. And, when she did get out, she used her skills to kill generally bad people. He was convinced there was still a human part of her. That's why he didn't kill her.

But, then there was the Widow. He was at a loss when it came to that. The moment she walked into Maclaren's room he realized that he had two partners. One that royally pissed him off, and one that scared the hell out of him. He hoped that in time, Natasha would put away the Widow, but he knew it would take a lot of time. Until then, it would be a balancing act between her two sides. Clint was not looking forward to it.

He watched from his perch, silent and unmoving, as the scene in front of him played out. Everything about Maclaren made him sick. From his business practices to the way his eyes hungrily stared at Natasha, made him glad they were going to kill him.

"Good evening, Miss Romanoff." Maclaren started as he set down his drink, however he didn't move from his seat.

"Good evening Maclaren." Natasha's voice was warmer than usual, but still held steely notes. Clint tensed as she walked over to him.

"Please, call me Patrick." Natasha now stood directly in front of him, her back to Clint. Maclaren then leaned forward, wrapped his hands around Natasha's waist, and pulled her on top of him so she was straddling his lap. Her dress being hiked up to her waist in the process.

"You look stunning, Natasha." He whispered and Clint thought he was going to be sick. He hated having to watch this sick bastard put his hands all over Natasha knowing she hated every second of it.

"You have certainly grown into yourself since the last time I saw you." He murmured against her cheek as he reached up and cupped her face and kissed her. Natasha threw her arms around Maclaren's neck and kissed back with equal enthusiasm. Soon Maclaren had pulled Natasha's hair down, and rid her of her dress, leaving her in just her lingerie and heels. He watched carefully as he saw Natasha place her hands on either side of his face, and her knew it was going to end soon. In an instant, quicker than his eyes could follow, Natasha's arms shifted violently and he heard a sickening snap through the comms. Maclaren was dead.

Natasha pushed off Maclaren's body with a deserved amount of disgust and turned to face where she knew Clint was.

"Am I good to leave?" She asked dully.

"You're good."

She stepped back into her dress, pulled it up, and zipped it quickly before checking and fixing herself in the mirror. The final thing she did was shut all the blinds in the room and hanging the "do not disturb" sign on the door. Clint too worked his way down and out of the building he was in and met her on the street after stashing his weapon.

"Ready?" Clint asked, she nodded once and they got another cab, this time to the home of Detective O'Neil to deliver the flashdrive. In the car, Clint took out a manila envelop and dropped the flashdrive in, labeling it simply with the hotel name and room number Maclaren was in. When they reached their destination, Natasha got out and rang the doorbell and dropped the envelop on the top step. They were back on the road within a minute.

"Make the call." Clint instructed, tossing a cell phone in her lap.

"For what?" She asked, picking is up and turning it over in her delicate, but deadly hands.

"For extraction. You earned it." Natasha didn't argue, which surprised Clint. She simply opened and dialed, if Clint didn't know better, he'd say she was nervous.

"Agent Barton, how's the mission going?" Natasha heard the familiar voice of Agent Coulson on the line.

"It's Romanoff, we're ready for extraction."


	7. Chapter 7

"Where's Barton." She could hear a slight panic in his voice.

"He's sitting right next to me." She replied dryly, Clint chuckled beside her.

"You were given three days." Coulson stated, clearly confused by their early completion.

"And we finished in one."

"How?"

"An opportunity presented itself, we took a risk and it payed out."

"How many dead?"

"Three, including Maclaren." Natasha kept her tone clinical and professional when talking to Coulson. She was working very hard at, but she kept herself calm.

"Be at the airport your arrived at in 6 hours." Coulson said and clicked off. Natasha handed the phone back to Clint, not making eye contact, and wrung her hands together. She was still reeling from being with Maclaren. It brought back a flood of memories she had been desperately trying to avoid. He head was swimming as she remembered the last time she was in Dublin.

"Natasha, are you okay?" Clint asked concernedly when she dropped her head into her hands, practically doubling over. She didn't answer.

"Natasha!" He said, panic in his voice. They had arrived at their own hotel and she practically bolted out of the car, Clint followed quickly.

"Natasha!" He called, catching up to her quickly and placing a hand on her shoulder. "What..." He began but was soon cut off by Natasha's fist connecting with his face. The crowd around them gasped collectively and moved away.

Clint recovered quickly, straightening himself back out again only to see his partner walking determinedly to the elevators. He decided it was best to just let her go seeing as he wasn't too keen on getting sucker punched again. He waited outside the hotel, pacing, for about an hour before deciding to go up to their room.

Natasha was furious at her goddamn partner. She hated him and she hated SHIELD. They were always prying into places where they had no business being, and were annoyingly insistent about it. Her anger at her current situation mixed with the heaviness of her past were not a good mix and she was having trouble breathing. She practically broke the hotel door in her haste to get into her room, quickly stripped out of her clothes, and jumped right into an icy cold shower.

As the freezing water ran over her body, she began to calm down. The cold numbed her body and mind and she stood there and let it was away the memories that haunted her. She stayed there for about twenty minutes until she felt she'd had enough and left and changes into regular clothes. Clint still wasn't there and she was damn grateful because she looked like hell. The cold water had reduced her to a pale, shivering mess complete with blue lips that Clint would practically have a heart attack over. She hated his concern and his care, it bothered her to no end. But, she pushed her angry thoughts aside, and instead chose to read Clint long forgotten by the time she had settled herself in her bed.

Clint had no idea what happened with her, but it freaked him out. He had watched her closely and carefully for round about a year and never had he seen her like that. Something was really wrong. But, he continued up to their room anyway.

When he got up there, he was pleasantly surprised by what he found. Natasha, who had clearly showered and changed was fast asleep on her bed with a book lying next to her. He walked quietly over to her and pulled the blankets over her, and, set her book on the nightstand, carefully as to not wake her. You know what they say about leaving sleeping assassins lie.

He then set an alarm so they could get up, pack, and get to the airport when their plane arrived changed out of his tactical and promptly knocked out. It had been a long day and he just wanted to get home and sleep in his own bed.

He awoke to the unpleasant buzzing of his alarm and angrily hit the button to turn it off. He slowly stretched and stood up, feeling slightly more human with each passing second. Natasha hadn't moved so he reached down and shook her shoulder gently. Bad idea. In an instant he was pinned firmly against her bed with a knife against his throat, and an unhappy assassin above him.

"Woah, hey! It's just me." He tried as he help his hand up in surrender. It took her a moment for it all to register, but when it did she released him, and climbed off the bed.

"You alright?" Clink asked skeptically as Natasha began to throw her things into her duffel bag.

"It's just a reflex." She answered tiredly, yawning slightly.

"That's a pretty extreme reflex." He grumbled under his breath.

"Don't knock it, it's saved my life." She replied with a shrug. "More than once." She added as and afterthought. Clint detected a hint of sadness in her voice, and her eyes glazed over for a second like she was remembering something, but shook it off easily and continued packing. Clint followed her lead and began to carelessly pack his things up.

"Tactical or civilian?" Natasha asked, breaking a long stretch of silence between them. Usually it was him that spoke first, and he was relieved that it was her this time.

"Tactical." He replied simply. "They'll want you in uniform at base to debrief." She nodded once and went to change. He could tell she was dead tired, but she still had an odd sort of grace as she shuffled quietly about the room. When she moved she was practically silent, he almost never physically heard her moving, but he saw it. He saw that she had perfect control of her limbs and manipulated them in ways to avoid making sound, something he had never seen in her before. Her impeccable control of her own body as well as her in depth knowledge of the human physique Clint deeply respected. He lingered on that though for a moment.

No, he didn't _like_ Natasha. She was the very definition of an ice queen and he thought she was irritating as hell, but he did respect her. She was extremely skilled in all areas of her job when most people like her fell short in at least some respect, including himself. He wasn't entirely sure whether this skill came from natural talent or just rigorous training, though he suspected it was probably both. In the field she was calm, and level headed. Each movement precise, accurate, and controlled. Every word spoken she chose with the utmost care. Everything Natasha did she did for a reason, and he respected that even if he didn't like it.

Natasha had very similar feelings towards Clint. She practically hated the man. He was a loud, arrogant, prying american bastard and he made her skin crawl with irritation, but he was good at his job. His marksmanship was impeccable, both with a bow and with a gun. His hand to hand combat skills were way above the average SHIELD agent, even if they weren't better than her own. And, he was surprisingly clever. While she was being tracked by SHIELD agents during her freelancing days, she always let the agents get close to her so she could just kill them easily. Clint, Clint got close to her on his own, even when she tried desperately to stay ahead of him. She could respect skill, talent, and a more than decent track record in the field, even if she didn't like him.

When Natasha was finished getting ready, they were ready to go. Clint had taken the opportunity of his partner's absence to change into his own tactical and finish packing his weapons so they could leave to hotel without being arrested. Sometimes that was a problem in the swankier places he stayed in, more people saw you leave and carrying a military-grade case while in his tactical looked sketchy, at best. He knew leaving in their tacticals with black duffel bags would draw unwanted attention, even if their gun holsters were empty. They were both relieved that it was still too early in the morning for there to be a whole lot of people in the lobby.

They checked out at the front desk quickly, earning some questioning and frightened looks from the man working the desk and hastily exiting the building. They hailed yet another cab and drove to the airport where another private plane was waiting.

"Do you ever fly commercially for SHIELD?" Natasha asked when they were boarding.

"Not really, no. It's harder to get weapons on board." That was the last they spoke until they arrived back at base. When they did, they made their was to a debriefing room and waited for Coulson to come.

"Is it always this bureaucratic?" Natasha asked tiredly after about fifteen minutes of nothing. Clint chuckled lightly as he watched the bored russian fiddle with a pen.

"Unfortunately, yeah." She sighed heavily, and leaned back in her chair shoving the pen away from her.

"Just be patient." Natasha looked up at him like she was going to punch him in the face, and considering what happened last night, that was a very real possibility.

"I'm stuck in a tiny ass room with someone I can't stand in a building of people who actually and legitimately want me dead. So, yeah, patience is a bit of a problem." Clint's expression softened at her words.

"If we wanted you dead you wouldn't be sitting here." He countered.

"Okay, so maybe your boss's boss thinks I'm a useful asset, but think about it. How many SHIELD agents have I killed? I've clocked it at seven. People aren't exactly receptive to you when you've killed their friends." Clint opened hi mouth to reply, but was cut off by Coulson entering the room.

"I'm glad to see you both back so soon. Maclaren's body has been picked up by the police, and they're working on dismantling his organization as we speak. Excellent job. I expect both your mission reports first thing tomorrow morning. Also, Fury wants you both at his office tomorrow at 0800 hours." With that, he turned and left.

"That was it?" Natasha asked disbelievingly as the door clicked shut.

"Yeah."

"That was a giant waste of my time." She shoved back out of her chair roughly and gathered her things.

"Debrief is just to let us know what happened as a result of our actions and make sure we are both physically well." Clint explained cooly. She didn't reply, she just left without another word. Clint sighed and rubbed his temples soothingly, this was going to be rough.

Their hot-and-cold partnership went on for the next year without any sudden, dramatic changes. But, it changed nonetheless. Over time they relaxed more around each other and began trusting each other more. Their first mission together was flawless, and their partnership had only improved since. They moved from being strictly partners into a somewhat tentative friendship, choosing to spend time together even outside of missions. They often sparred together, much to the chagrin of Clint's wife, and would occasionally go out for a drink together after missions. It was a little awkward considering the giant list of blacklisted conversation topics, like their pasts. Okay, that was basically the list, but it entailed a lot. One of their more defining moments in their early relationship being during the first mission where she came close to death.

It wasn't really a normal mission they had been sent on, it wasn't just them. A large number of agents had been sent to clear out a baddie's compound in South America. It wasn't a fun job considering they had to trek through a piece of dense forest, but it was necessary. The hundred or so agents had been divided by Fury into smaller task teams, each with a separate leader. Natasha was more than a little surprised when she was listed as a team leader, as were the rest of the agents. This was all about one year into her life at SHIELD and she was still not in high favor with most of the agents.

She had made a few acquaintances (none of which she would call actual friends, but they weren't exactly enemies either) mostly through giving advice in the training rooms to people who looked they were having a difficult time in one area of combat. However, a lot of people still resented her for her past so she chose to spend the majority of her time off base when she wasn't training. She tended to prefer it that way, though this caused more than a little tension between herself and her task force.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." an agent my the name of Vincent Scott exclaimed after hearing that he would be under Natasha's command. Natasha was a reasonable person, she could deal with it if you didn't like her, she really didn't care all that much about pleasing other people. But, she would not tolerate disrespect. Rightfully so too. She was the best field agent SHIELD had running, and she deserved to be respected. However, some people generally failed to accept that. Natasha sauntered over to Scott calmly, with a blank look on her face. Her lack of emotion and frighteningly calm demeanor made a lot of people uncomfortable, including Scott.

"You, uh, might want to rephrase that, Agent Scott." Her tone was low, but steady and controlled. Scott was clearly nervous, but held his ground. Bad idea.

"You killed my best friend, and now they expect me to follow orders from you? You must be out of your damn mind to think that anyone here would give you the time of day!" He shot back angrily.

"Which one was he then, your friend? One through seven?" She asked with a slightly amused tone.

"Five." He spat bitterly.

"One: your friend _did_ try to kill me first. I simply acted in self defense." Clint, who was listening in on their conversation knew it was a lie, but wasn't going to say anything. "And two:" Natasha continued. "Fury sent him to me knowing that I would kill him. Sending rookies to take out a master is not something one does on accident, especially after the previous four turn up dead. So you might consider asking you boss why your friend was sent to me in the first place when he knew he was no match for me." She finished with an air of amusement.

"You little bitch!" Scott shouted as he made a move to punch her. However, Natasha's reflexes were much better and she easily grabbed his fist, twisted him arm behind his back, and shoved him roughly face-first into the ground before he made contact.

"Now, if you like," She went on, still in a light tone just to piss him off further. "You can request a transfer to a different group from the senior agent on the mission."

"Which," Clint interjected at this point, earning an annoyed glare from his partner. "Will be denied considering I'm the senior agent here." Clint roughly yanked Scott back to his feet by his collar.

"Now, Agent Scott." His voice was low and threatening as he spoke. "I couldn't care less about your personal feelings towards Agent Romanoff. She is hereby you superior and you _will_ treat her with the respect she has earned. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Scott gritted out through his teeth after some time.

"If I here so much as one word about any further ill behavior towards Agent Romanoff I will be taking it up with your handler." With that he released Scott and he fell silent. He shuffled awkwardly back to his task group remained silent.

"Agent Romanoff, a word." Clint motioned for her to follow him. When they were out of earshot of any other agents he turned. His stop was sudden, so they were both dangerously in each others personal space, but neither moved.

"Can you at least try to get along with other people?" He asked tiredly. It had been a long day, and there was still a lot to come, he really didn't need this right now.

"I'm here to to a job, not baby anybody." She replied dryly, completely bored with this situation and she turned and started walking away. Clint smiled as he watched her go.

"C'mon, Tasha! Don't be like that!" He called after her, jogging to catch up. Several nearby agents had been watching their exchange, and now a few more became interested.

"What have I told you about nicknames?" She asked innocently as she turned on her heels to face him. He wasn't fooled by her tone for a second, he knew she was resisting the urge to punch him in the face.

"Give it up, three syllables is a lot." He explained with a smile. She simply crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him.

"You're pathetic." She stated as she turned to walk away from him again.

"Is that a yes, then?" He called after her.

"Do whatever the hell you want, Barton." She called back with an air of indifference. Clint stood there smiling for a minute, feeling like he just won a grand victory, before turning back to his own group.

"What was that all about?" A female agent, Kayla Crawford, asked when Natasha returned. Something in her tone irritated Natasha to hell. She was sick of all the rumors and insinuations made about her relationship with Barton, they were partners and friends, nothing more. But, somehow, a lot of people failed to realize that.

"It was a discussion between partners, nothing more. Any insinuation that it was otherwise will _not_ be taken lightly. Understood?" They junior agent froze at Natasha's harsh tone, the poor girl looked downright terrified.

"Yes, ma'am." She squeaked out.

"Good. I trust you all attended briefing, right?" She addressed the whole team now. They all murmured some variation of 'yes' and she continued.

"A few general guidelines before we go in there. One: comms on at _all_ times, no exceptions. Two: When in doubt, know your way out. Be conscious of nearby exits at all times. Three: Nobody goes off on their own. We may need to break into smaller groups of two or three, but do not be by yourself. If you find yourself separated from the group and cannot get back, I want you to exit the building immediately. Let's do our jobs, and do them well. We want to keep casualties minimal." There was a collective "yes ma'am." and they started their infiltration to the compound.

The mission went smoothly, up until it didn't. The building was rigged to self destruct and someone hit the 'self-destruct' button. Natasha's group had finished their task, which was downloading the compounds files to a flashdrive for SHIELD, and now were focused on getting out. An explosion sounded too close for comfort as they left the records room. She lead her team through the complex halls and they were in sight of their exit when another bomb went off just behind them. The walls caved behind them, and on top of Agent Scott.

"Fuck!" Natasha swore as she turned back to find Scott with his right leg under a pile of rubble.

"Agent Crawford, take point. Get everyone else out safely." She instructed as she bent over Scott. Of course, he was unconscious.

"Great, he couldn't have stayed awake. No, because that would have been helpful." She muttered to herself as she began to analyze the situation, determining the best course of action.

"Romanoff, we can't leave you!" Crawford shouted over the loud crashing and alarms of the building.

"You can and you will!" She shouted back. "Get yourselves to safety, that's an order!" Crawford hesitated, but then turned with the others to lead them out.

Natasha set to work carefully unburying Scott, but she knew she could never drag him out of here if he was unconscious. Once she had freed her leg, she adjusted her Widow's Bite to a far from lethal level. Either this was going to kill him or save him. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, then shot her hand out, sending the powerful electricity right through his heart. Scott's eyes flew open and his chest lifted off the ground as he was brought back into awareness.

"Romanoff, the building's about to blow. You need to get out of there." She heard a frantic Crawford through her comms.

"Yeah, I'm aware." She replied as she hauled Scott to his feet, taking most of his weight on her shoulders so he could walk. They began to slowly limp towards the exit, and Natasha was very nervous. She could feel the integrity of the building collapsing beneath her feet, the only thing she could focus on was getting them out of here.

"C'mon, Scott" She encouraged as she heard him groan beside her. "Stay with me, we're almost there."

Meanwhile, at the regrouping point, Natasha's team was just arriving nervous and out of breath. They just left their superior agent, and another comrade inside a collapsing building. They all really hoped that Natasha could live up to reputation right now. Clint, who saw the group arrive, became worried when he didn't see Natasha. He jogged over to them and saw the team freeze when they finally saw him coming towards them.

"Where's Agent Romanoff." He asked, concern creasing his face. "And Agent Scott." He added, after noting his absence.

"Agent Scott got trapped by some debris after one of the explosions, Agent Romanoff stayed behind to help. She instructed us to leave, and we followed her command." Crawford explained, refusing to meet Clint's eyes.

Clint turned and began to jog back to the compound when several other agents noticed and restrained him from doing so.

"You can't go back in there! Are you insane?!" Someone barked at him. He fought to free himself, but was ultimately overpowered and outnumbered. Just as he was in the middle of struggling, the entire building collapsed in on itself, and Clint froze. The agents released him, but he couldn't move. He simply watched as the entire space where the building used to be was filled with dust and ash and smoke, and sank to his knees. The surrounding agents backed off as they watched their leader collapse in devastation at the loss of his partner. They didn't really like Natasha, but that sure was a shitty way to go.

Clint kneeled there, staring at the space where she should have come out for minutes, and then quirked his head to the side and squinted. He saw a faint, very faint shadow in the ash. Something only his sharp eyes would catch. He got back on his feet and cautiously began walking towards the wreckage. Several agents lurched forward when he started but he motioned for them to stay. They didn't quite back off, choosing to follow him instead.

In the distance, at the tree line appeared two silhouettes. One clearly male leaning heavily on the other, a more petite female. And Clint, Clint would know that body anywhere. He sprinted forward into the trees, followed by the agents, towards the two limping figures. When they came into sight her breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

"Tasha!" He called out elated by the sight.

"Hey, Barton." She responded casually. The other agents had arrived and immediately took Scott from Natasha and carried him back to base. Natasha, however seemed to stumble even without the weight of the other agent. Clint looked over her concernedly.

"You okay?" His worry was clear in his voice.

"I'm fine." She choked out as she continued her struggled advance through the trees.

"No, you're not." He said steadily, and then he saw it. A sharp piece of metal had pierced her side, going completely through her body.

"Fucking hell, Natasha." He breathed out, rushing to her side to help steady her.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." She tried to comfort him, but she knew it wouldn't work. He always worried about her, sometimes it pissed her off. Well, it always pissed her off, but to a greater or lesser degree depending on the day. Clint immediately pulled her right arm over his shoulder so she could put some weight on him, and gingerly wrapped his left arm around her waist, careful not to touch her wound. Together they limped back to the regrouping site, earning a lot of long stares as they made their way to the medical tent. Natasha and Scott were the only two major injuries, luckily.

Upon their entry, the doctors and nurses basically dropped what they were doing to attend to Natasha, who was, by far, the most seriously injured. They got her onto a stretcher and peeled off her tactical to get better access to her injury.

"I can't remove this until we have proper facilities." A doctor informed her and Clint, who stood nervously over her, biting his thumb.

"Well, you're gonna have to anyway." Natasha groaned from the table.

"If I do, there's a high chance you'll die.." He warned her.

"If you don't do it now, it's not coming out. My body'll heal around it." She ground out through the pain she was swimming in.

"That's very unlikely in the short period of time it'll take us to get you to a medical facility."

"I'm an unlikely woman." She was struggling to remain conscience as she continued to loose blood, an Clint was getting worried.

"Clint." He snapped to attention at the use of his first name, which from her, was rare. "Trust me and do it. I'll live."

"Fuck no, Natasha! I can't do that!"

"Trust me." She repeated, but softer. Clint looked between her and the doctors who had busied themselves doing other things, biting his lip nervously. Suddenly, before the doctors could stop him, he reached out and yanked the sharp intrusion out of Natasha. He cringed at her earsplitting scream that would haunt his freaking dreams. No doubt the rest of the camp heard it.

"Are you fucking insane!" One doctor shouted as he rushed over and shoved him roughly away from his partner. He began to work in earnest over Natasha, who looked bad. Her face was paler than normal, her lips pressed into a straight hard line while she was operated on.

"Fuck!" She shouted when the doctor pressed something against the inside of her wound.

"That sedative should have knocked her out! Why is she still awake!" The doctor barked at his nurse.

"I don't know!" She replied frantically with a nervous look at the scene in front of her.

"гребаный бог черт возьми!" She began cursing in her mother tongue as the doctor continued working. Clint was spurred into action by her sudden and loud outbursts. He quickly removed his quiver off his back and took the strap off the actual part that held his arrows. Folding it in half he roughly shoved it in her mouth and she bit down, hard. He then moved to the right side of the stretcher where the doctor wasn't working and grabbed her hand. She looked over at him gratefully for a minute before shutting her eyes tightly and squeezing his hand, hard. Damn was she strong!

A rather large crowd had gathered around Natasha to watch as she was operated on. The nurse tried to keep them at bay, but to no avail. They watched in a mixture of concern and fascination as the doctor tried to stem the bleeding from her large, open wound. But, mostly they watched the dynamic between Clint and Natasha. They watched as he sat dutifully next to her, hands joined, with a pointed look of concern on his face murmuring small comforts to her. He kept his eyes locked on to hers, trying to provide even a tiny bit of distraction or relief from her pain. When the doctor went to cauterize part of her injury, Clint paled and cringed at her muffled scream and held her hand even tighter.

The doctor was done patching her up in about an hour, and it was the longest, most stressful hour of his life. Natasha had remained conscious the entire time, which confused and intrigued everybody in the room. When the impromptu operation was done, the doctor angrily shooed everybody but Clint from the room.

"Natasha, what the hell are you?" The doctor asked suddenly once the room was cleared.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clint snapped angrily, offended for his partner.

"No sedative put you under, you lost an incredible amount of blood without loosing consciousness, and your body heals at an incredible rate. I physically saw your body repairing itself as I was working. That's not normal."

"Oh, that." She sighed reluctantly, refusing to even meet eyes with the man questioning her.

"That?" Clint and the doctor repeated in unison.

"When I was in the Red Room" Clint flinched at the mention of Natasha's past, but she ignored it. "A lot of us were injected with this serum. It was designed to make us better weapons. It made us stronger, and more resilient."

Clint and the doctor looked at her with shockingly different expressions. The doctor looked at her like some goddamn experiment, while Clint wore a soft smile. She suspected that he was grateful she chose to share something about her past with him. She was entirely correct.

"How many of you were there?" The doctor asked eagerly and Clint and Natasha both stiffened.

"Don't worry about it." She answered noncommittally.

"Why not?" He asked defensively.

"Because I'm the only who survived the injection." A strained silence filled the room and Natasha began to stir.

"Tasha, sit still!" Clint exclaimed, trying to settle her down. She brushed him off.

"I'm fine, Clint." She grumbled irritably sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the stretcher. She left her upper body exposed, not bothering to put her tactical back on properly and stood up. She swayed slightly and Clint was there in an instant to steady her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Clint threw her an accusing glare that she matched as Clint snaked an arm around her waist to relieve some of the pressure on her body. Surprisingly, she leaned into his touch and threw and arm over his shoulder to help balance herself. The pain was still making her head swim.

"To check on the rest of my team." She said with a tentative step forward.

"You're so goddamn stubborn, you know that?"

"Yeah, I'm aware." She said tightly as she kept moving forward. Once she breeched the walls of the tent she was surprised by what she saw. Most of the agents, including her team, were gathered around the doorway to the tent. It was dead silent. Clint and Natasha stood there for a moment awkwardly, until one lone man began clapping. Soon, the entire crowd was clapping and cheering for Natasha. Clint looked down at his partner, who typically hated being the center of attention, and saw her smiling. It was a real and genuine smile, not part of an act or a con, it wasn't her typical smirk, it was a full blown, radiant smile. The sight of it made his heart swell just a tiny bit, and he knew she would do just fine here at SHIELD.


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha and Clint were the first two airlifted out of the camp to return to base in NY. Natasha was dreading going back, knowing how many questions people would ask about her.

"I hate doctors for a reason, Clint." She told him with a knowing look.

"How often has a situation like this come up?" He asked curiously, wondering how many times she ended up impaled with metal, or something similar.

"Only a couple of times, I had to improvise to get myself out of some pretty invasive questions and tests." Clint cringes internally as he thought about what that meant, he chose to look past it. He could tell she was hiding something from him, but chose to let it go for now.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" He asked quietly.

"It didn't become relevant until tonight, I guess. And, it's not something I particularly care to think about." She answered with a refreshing openness.

"So, you're gonna be fine then?" He asked with a certain uneasiness.

"I'll be fine." She assured him.

"It'll only took like a year." He grumbled a bit under his breath.

"For what?" She snapped.

"For you to let me ask if you're okay without threatening to shoot me." He teased.

"You don't shut up right now and I still might." She threw back with a threatening glare, but he just laughed.

"No, you won't Tasha." He smiled cheekily at her. She sighed and dropped her head in her hands, she didn't want to have to deal with her partner acting like an idiot right not.

"Why were you so damn insistent on giving me a nickname?" She asked abruptly, and the smile immediately faded from his lips.

"Why were you so reluctant to let me?" He countered. Neither of them answered each other and they spent the rest of the ride in silence. Easy streaks between them never lasted long anyways.

When they arrived back at base she was instructed to immediately report to their Chief Medical Office, Doctor Mccoy, to look her over.

He ran some simple tests, looked at her injury, changed the bandage and then sent her to Fury. He had already heard all about what happened in South America and wasn't too happy. Clint had said his goodbye to her at the medical wing when he wasn't allowed to be in the room for testing and went to debrief before going home to his wife. Natasha however had a much longer night ahead of her.

"Miss Romanoff." Fury greeted her, she was unnerved by his friendly tone. "Please take a seat." She did as she was instructed.

"I heard some interesting things about you today." He started.

"Sir, I..." She began but was cut off.

"Not all bad, but not all good. Seems you're still clashing with my agents. But, I could care less about that considering you're still willing to risk your life to save them. But, that's not why you're here. You're here because there's something you haven't told us about yourself." He looked at he expectantly.

"You, uh, wanna narrow that down, sir. The list is quite long." She feigned innocence, but that seemed to make Fury angry. She knew it would, but she felt a sick sense of satisfaction when she got him riled up over little remarks.

"You know what I'm talking about." He said darkly. "You're not what you claimed to be."

"No, I'm exactly what I claimed to be. I'm a spy and an assassin. I do my job, and I do it well. There are things about me that were forced upon me, things I had no control over. Some might view it as a gift, but to be honest I'm still not sure. However, I do know that it doesn't change who I am, and quite frankly, my biology is none of your business." She snapped heatedly, tensing in her seat. She was gripping the armrests of her chair so tightly Fury was briefly concerned they might break.

"You are my business, and..." Natasha cut him off, a brazen move.

"I have physiological differences from that of an average human. Not in a bad way either. It doesn't effect my ability to do my job in any way. This doesn't change anything, it's simply a fact of my existence. Now," she stood up "if you'll excuse me, I've had a long day and I'm going home." With that, she turned on her heels and left without another glance at her boss.

She was so sick of people treating her like glass when she was physically stronger than the rest of them. In their eyes this was a liability rather than an asset which seriously pissed her off considering it was the only reason she and another agent were still breathing. She was sick of everybody trying to turn this into a curse when she desperately needed it not to be.

The Red Room took everything from Natasha. They took her childhood and her innocence and filled her with cruelty and rage. They turned her into a weapon, and used her to her fullest extent. She had been used and abused far too much for a girl of only 20. Her past kept her up at night, it haunted her, what she is and who she is. They turned her into a monster. She needed to believe that it wasn't all bad. She needed to believe that they gave her something instead of just taking for her own sanity. She didn't need everything in her life to be a curse.

She quickly drove home, breaking about a dozen traffic laws in her haste, and promptly decided that she wasn't going to sleep tonight without some help. She took her time showering and changing into more comfortable clothes before downing about 2/3 a 5th of her strongest vodka from mother Russia and passing out on her couch. It was kinda sad that she considered it a good night.

To be fair, Clint wasn't exactly having a great night either. He was feeling uneasy about how he and Natasha left things. Getting along with her wasn't exactly easy and he felt like he just set them back a few paces in the progression of their relationship. They were always so on and off and she confused the hell out of him. One minute they'd be fine, laughing and smiling even, and the next she would completely shut him out. It was infuriating. It gnawed at him while he was being debriefed, and his entire drive home.

Natasha was still on his mind when he entered his apartment, but honestly, Natasha was pretty much always on his mind. He worked so hard to try and figure her out and the minute he felt like he got somewhere, she completely changed the game. When he walked through his door he was immediately assaulted by a crushing hug from his wife.

"I heard what happened at the compound today. I was so worried." She gushed, still gripping him tightly. He hugged her back with as much force, his strong arms around her waist.

"We're all fine." He assured her. There was something about they way he said it that didn't sit quite right with Bobbi.

"Who got hurt?" She asked, guiding him to the couch where they both collapsed unceremoniously.

"Natasha, and another agent." Bobbi tensed at Natasha's name. She really did hate that girl. Ever since she entered Clint's life he wasn't the same. They had steadily grown apart as he got closer to her, and she hated it. She tried to be supportive, but everything about that cold redhead made her blood boil.

"Is she going to be okay?" Bobbi asked, feigning concern.

"Yeah, I guess Agent Scott's worse of than her now." He shrugged and leaned further back into the cushions of the couch.

"Now?" Now, she was genuinely curious.

"It's kinda complicated." He rubbed his neck nervously when he felt his wife's eyes boring into him.

"It's always complicated when it comes to Natasha isn't it?" She asked quietly.

"Yeah." He admitted, his voice barely audible even though she was so close to him.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." She said standing up. "I'm going to bed, you coming?" She was a little too cheery, it unnerved Clint.

"In a minute." He replied flatly, not meeting her eyes. He didn't see the utter devastation in her face as he cradled his head in his hands. She walked stiffly off to their room, closing the door a little harder than necessary.

Clint sighed heavily, realizing he was just about fucking up every relationship in his life, and he knew he cared more about making it right with Natasha than he did with his wife. That realization made his stomach drop. Things had gone so sideways for them since Natasha entered his life, but somethings were more important than keeping his wife happy, and he knew that. He needed to trust his partner and her needed her to trust him, he didn't need that from Bobbie. He didn't rely on Bobbi in the field where his life and the lives of others were at risk. In simplest terms, he didn't need her.

But, he did need Natasha. He needed his partner and his friend more than anything. He needed a partner he could trust and rely on, and so did she if they were going to survive, but it was hard for both of them. He knew Natasha's past was wickedly dark and full of skeletons, both literally and figuratively. She avoided talking about it at all costs, though there were always passing mentions of her past that intrigued him. He saw how it haunted her, but she carried on anyways. She wasn't too different from himself, maybe that's why they hadn't fallen apart yet.

Clint didn't exactly have a bright and shiny past either. In fact, he had a pretty dark past himself, and much like his partner, he didn't like to talk about it. He had deep-seeded trust issues and problems being close to people. He has never once in his life spent the entire night with a woman. Not even his wife. He always ends up awake at odd hours in the morning walking around, the closeness of another human being for an extended period of time was unbearable. People always say that physical closeness makes them calmer and more relaxed, but for Clint it was just the opposite. It made him restless, and uneasy, and jumpy. He supposes that's why he's a sniper, up until Natasha, he always worked alone. He never had to deal with other people, and he liked it that way.

Both of their personal lives and problems made their partnership rocky, at best, in terms of personal relations. In terms of skill, they worked excellently together. They often clashed violently, punches and insults were thrown around far too often, and they had a tendency to shut each other out, but somehow they still managed to finish each mission flawlessly every time. Eventually, Clint decided he was done thinking about all this and headed to bed, shoving his problematic partnership out of his mind for the moment.

He woke up a few hours later from a tossing, restless sleep by the echoing of Natasha's piercing screams in a cold sweat.

"Fuck!" He muttered rubbing the back of his neck. He hastily pulled his damp shirt over his head and threw it angrily on the floor as he scrambled out of bed and padded quietly to the bathroom. He ran some cool water through the tap and splashed some on his face. He spent the rest of the night wandering around his apartment, reading magazines that were on his coffee table, and the like. He went for a walk around two, and eventually passed out on his couch around five. He was woken up again around seven by the sound of his wife getting for work. However, he laid still on the couch pretending to sleep until she left rather than get up. When she was gone, he did finally get up and get ready to check into base for the day. They hadn't called him in, but he felt like blowing off some steam in the shooting range, so he figured he'd head over.

When he walked into the training rooms the last person he expected to find there was Natasha.

"Nat!" He called from across the room where she was wrapping her hands. She was dressed in her usual training attire which consisted of simple black spandex and a sports bra with her hair tied back into a sleek ponytail. She looked up an nodded, but gave no other acknowledgement.

"What are you doing here?" Clint asked once he reached here.

"Training." She replied blandly before walking off to a nearby vacant punching bag.

"You should be home resting." He insisted, putting himself between his parter and the training gear.

"Look." She snapped pointedly, annoyance clear in her voice. "I'm fine. Your worrying is beyond getting on my nerves, I'm not made of glass, I'm fine. Mccoy cleared me for active duty this morning. You can even look at where my injury was. Now, get out of my way." She finished darkly. Clint did look down and saw where a giant open wound had been yesterday had now been reduced to nothing but a light pink scar on her side. He sighed deeply, rolled his eyes in frustration, and stalked off to the other side of the training room. He did his best to ignore her, but half an hour later her found his eyes searching for that familiar red hair in the sea of agents. What he saw surprised, and intrigued him.

"Hey." Natasha called to a a female agent working on knife work in the training right with another agent. "Mind if I step in for a round?" She asked. He face was calm, and voice flat. The face on the other agents was shockingly different, both appeared very nervous and kind of scared by her presence. Natasha could do that to a person, even Clint sometimes. She secretly reveled in it, not that she would ever tell anybody.

"Uh-uh. Y-yeah...?" The girl managed to stutter out in the end, and Natasha ducked under the rope into the ring as the other agent ducked out.

"What's your name, Agent?" She asked calmly, taking her own knife in her hand. The poor girl looked like she was going to faint. Clint padded over to the ring to get a better view of this exchange.

"Esther Fowler, ma'am." She said gaining a little confidence.

"No need for ma'am, Esther. Agent Romanoff will do just fine." The young agent nodded was a certain warmness to Natasha's voice that Clint couldn't quite place. He had certainly never heard it before, and it made him deeply curious.

"Alright, Esther. Take your best shot." She instructed cooly as she pulled herself into a fighting stance. The girl hesitated, but an encouraging look from Natasha changed that, and she pulled her arm back and thrust forward at Natasha. As to be expected, Natasha had the girl disarmed and at her mercy in seconds, the blade of her knife pressed dangerously close to her throat. Poor Esther looked like she was going to cry, but Natasha quickly and gently released her, dropping her armed hand back to her side.

"It's alright, Esther." She reassured her as she retrieved Esther's knife from the mat where it had fallen and handed it back to her. By now, more than a few agents had taken interest in the situation and gathered around the ring. Natasha had a tendency to draw a crowd. Most looked on with disapproving faces as she sparred with the training agent.

"A few pointers," She said as Esther took her weapon back. "Take your stance again." She instructed, and she followed the order and took a fighting stance.

"One: keep you arms more towards the center of your body. All your important organs are centralized here and it's vital to protect them." She said as she directed the agents arms inwards by her elbows to cover her chest.

"And second: focus more on speed than strength." She guided the agents arm into extension, rotating the blade into a more natural position in Esther's hand. " When you pull your arm back like you did when you attacked me, you gain strength, but are much slower. That's why it was so easy for me to disarm you. As a woman, you have a unique advantage." Esther quirked her head and furrowed her brow at Natasha's words. "Men will often underestimate you. It's unfortunate, and unfair, but true. And, in the field, more often than not, you will be fighting men. Men will be stronger than you. It's a fact of their biology. Women cannot physically gain the same amount of muscle mass as men can, but you can outdo them by being faster. Take me and my partner, for example." She nodded in Clint's direction. "He will always have me beat on brute strength, but I still manage to wipe the floor with his ass is the sparring ring every time because I'm quicker. It takes less than a pound of pressure to cut through human skin. So, don't take longer than you need to to make contact." The girl nodded once, which Natasha returned before stepping back out of the ring, motioning for her old parter to go back in. Clint quickly caught up to her.

"If Fury finds out about that he'll put you on training detail when you're not on missions." He scoffed, still in shock by her helpful attitude towards the girl.

"She looked like she was having a hard time." She replied simply with a shrug.

"It was still nice of you, even if you did lie to her." Natasha turned on her heels to face him, a dangerous glint flashing in her eyes.

"What?" She snapped.

"You're a filthy liar." He teased with a little waggle of his eyebrows.

"Watch what you say next, Barton, or you could lose something important." She threatened.

"You don't always floor me in the ring." She relaxed a little, then scoffed.

"Oh yeah? Name one time you've beaten me?" She challenged, raising an eyebrow. Clint bit his lip as he thought about it.

"When we first met." He concluded with a triumphant smile.

"Doesn't count." She dismissed quickly as she turned and walked away from him. Clint quickly caught up to her again.

"What do you mean, doesn't count?" He practically screeched with indignation. Natasha was loving this, getting him all wound up and angry was oddly satisfying. Probably because it felt like payback for all the times he purposely pissed her off.

"I mean it doesn't count." She said simply with a smirk.

"Why not?"

"One: because it wasn't in the ring, which were the parameters I set for my example. Two: I let you win." She explained while ducking into an empty ring, ignoring the offended look on her partner's face.

"Liar." He replied simply, climbing in after her.

"Prove it." She challenged, a daunting glint in her eyes and a small sly smile on her lips as she raised her eyebrows at him. "Let's go a round."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm not going to fight you to prove a point." He told his partner sternly.

"Afraid of a little girl, Barton? She teased, letting her head fall to the side with a taunting smile on her lips. "Or do you already know that you couldn't beat me if you tried?"

"Is that so, Little Red?" He shot back, knowing it would get a rise out of her.

"Yeah, and you wanna know why?"

By now, the crowd that had been watching Natasha with Esther previously had migrated to watching the exchange with her partner. They were all thinking the same thing: this isn't going to end well.

"Please enlighten me, Tasha." Clint crossed his arms over his chest and gave his partner a pointed look.

"Because, I've been in the game longer than you have." She said simply with a little shrug.

"You're 14 years younger than me." He shot back.

"But, I've still got more years in training."

"How do you figure?" He asked with acute interest in what she was going to say next.

"Well," She began. "You started at SHIELD when you were 20, says so in your file. Now, judging my your overall demeanor and your sickening affinity for this organization, I'd say you didn't really start killing until you ended up here, at least not commercially. That only gives you 14 years of experience if they put you right in the field, but you went through two years of basic training, so you really only have 12." She concluded with a nod.

"How did you know that?" Clint's eyebrows knit together as he looked over Natasha critically.

"I didn't know, I noticed." Clint scoffed at her answer.

"So, I've got 12. What's your total?"

"So I was right then? Awesome. Me? I've got an impressive 15." A hint of bitterness in her voice.

"That's only a three year difference, it's not much." He was choosing to ignore the fact that she's only twenty at the moment, he would drill her on that when there wasn't a crowd.

"Ah, yes your math skills are quite impressive, Barton. But, those three years were vital years. When you're young your brains all spongey. You learn faster and easier. Things that are merely knowledge to you, have become instinct to me."

"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow incredulously. "Then go on and prove it." Natasha smirked, she had him now. She immediately took a fighting stance and Clint mirrored her actions.

They slowly circled each other for a minute, both very carefully sizing the other up. Clint hated to admit that Natasha did get the better of him way more often than did, but now he was determined. Similarly, Natasha was also determined, perhaps even more so than Clint.

Natasha during her time at SHIELD had come against some pretty harsh criticisms. She was often blatantly disrespected by senior agents to the point she had steadfastly removed herself from being around them. To make matters worse, word of Natasha's reputation from her days as the Black Widow flew fast around SHIELD. This pissed her off to no end. Plenty of male agents had received black eyes, and sometimes much worse, for coming onto her. They thought that because she's had a lot of sex meant she should have sex with them. She was sick of the people around here treating her like an object. She was a highly trained, elite assassin not SHIELD's whore, and she was going to prove it. In front of an audience, she was going to thoroughly kick their top field agent's ass.

Clint made the first move, striking out with his fist. Natasha easily dodged the attack, ducking under his arm and striking out herself at Clint's now opened stance. She landed a solid blow in his stomach. Clint recovered quickly by grabbing her wrist and twisting her arm sharply behind her back, smirking when he heard a sharp pop indicating the dislocation of her shoulder and the harsh gasp from Natasha that came with it. Natasha steeled herself against the pain in her right arm and redoubled her efforts. She reared her head back so it connected sharply with Clint's head, smirking as she heard the crackle of cartilage of his nose, and kicked him in the shin. He released her arm and she spun back to face him, cradling her dislocated arm across her body. Clint smirked triumphantly but quickly faded as Natasha leveled his eyes at her, and without breaking eye contact, roughly snapped her shoulder back into place without so much as a wince.

Alright, that was intimidating.

"Now, that's just plain freaky." He muttered, wiping away the blood that was dripping down her face as they went back to circling each other around the ring. Natasha smiled at him wickedly, her brilliant green eyes razor sharp and deadly. They were focused solely on him, quickly darting around him, analyzing his every move. Natasha was the first to strike this time, with a strong roundhouse kick that Clint easily caught. He pulled her leg harshly so their bodies collided, pulling Natasha flush against him. Natasha struggled for a moment with her balance, but quickly regained it as she wrapped her leg that Clint around his waist and slid her free leg around his ankle.

Confusion flashed across Clint's eyes for a moment but was soon replaced by panic as Natasha pulled Clint's ankle and hips forward, causing him to lose his balance and sending them both crashing down onto the mat with Natasha on top of him. Natasha recovered quicker than he did by straddling his waist using her deceptively strong thighs to keep his legs from moving. She had pinned down his right arm with hers and with her left arm she leaned her elbow heavily into his diaphragm. She smiled at the satisfying wheeze that escaped Clint as she slowly pressed the air out of his lungs while simultaneously preventing him from taking another breath in. Clint's unrestrained hand reached out and closed around Natasha's neck, pressing his thumb directly into the hollow of her throat, cutting off her breathing as well. They were at a stalemate. Now, they just had to see who could withstand the other longer.

Clint broke first, releasing her from his iron grip, but she was relentless. She couldn't give in without his concession. Clint's vision was starting to get blurry and lights popped behind his eyelids as Natasha leaned even harder into his chest. He was screwed, and he knew it. He struggled as he lifted his free arm and slammed it down on the mat beside him. He gasped as air immediately rushed into his lungs following the resounding clap of his hand meeting the mat. His chest peeled off the ground slightly as he struggled to regain his breath. Natasha sat up straight after releasing him and, still straddling his hips, smiled triumphantly.

Clint suddenly flipped them so she was immobilized underneath him, she wriggled a little bit under his weight, but didn't struggle much. One year ago, she would've fought back for all she's worth, they've made a lot of improvement.

"I still won." She told him pointedly. "You conceded." Clint eased up, releasing her arms and sitting up, he was still straddling her hips, but she made no effort to move his so he stayed there. He looked down at his partner and what he saw made him feel oddly okay with having lost. She was completely relaxed, her eyes were still sharply boring into him though no longer with violent intent, her long hair splayed around her like a crown, her body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and she was practically glowing from the exercise, the smile faded off his lips as he noticed a purplish bruise developing on her neck. His face went blank as he reached out and gently guided her chin upwards to reveal more of her neck before gingerly running his calloused fingers over the marks. She suddenly snapped her head forward and pushed his hand away.

"Don't worry, they'll fade in a few hours." She told him sternly. "But," She continued a little more lightly. "did I manage to prove that I let you beat me?"

"No." He replied defiantly.

"Why, not?" She tensed up a bit beneath him, he could hear the indignation in her voice.

"Because it doesn't make sense. Why would you let me win?" Natasha opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a sudden clamor in the audience. Clint and Natasha both turned to see Bobbi there staring at them. She looked beyond pissed. Clint hastily stood up, almost tripping over Natasha's legs in the process and offered his hand to Natasha. She, of course, ignored it getting up gracefully on her own.

"It would if you thought about for more than five seconds." She shot back at him a bit sarcastically. "Good luck." She added amusedly under her breath before turning and ducking out of the ring, and leaving the training room all together leaving him alone (well, sort of alone) with his wife.

"Hey, Bobbi." Clint said nervously ducking out of the ring. The crowd began to dissipate, not wanting to see what was going to happen next. They were right though, this didn't end well. At least not for Clint.

"What the hell was _that_?" She snapped, hands on her hips. Clint sighed, he knew Bobbi was the jealous type, but it still frustrated him when she did get like this. He knew that his rather close position with Natasha probably didn't look too good, but it wasn't anything like he knew Bobbi was making it out to be.

"We were just sparring, Bobbi." He explained softly. She didn't buy it. Thus ensued a long winded rant of his wife's part about how straddling your partner for an undetermined period of time id not 'just sparring'. Clint, who wasn't really in the mood to argue back, let his mind wander while his wife continued to berate him. He thought back to Natasha's final words before ducking out on him. _It would if you thought about it for more than five seconds_. Her words echoed in his ears as he thought back to when they first met. Then, it finally clicked.

"Hey, can we talk about this later or something?" He interrupted. "I've got a thing I have to do. I'll see you later." He finished as he stepped wound her and practically bolted out the the training room. She ran after him, but stopped shortly after they were in the hallways.

"Why is it always that I'm chasing after you while you're chasing after her?" She called down the hall after him. Hearing that made Clint flinch, he hated that he was hurting her, but some things were just more important and he pressed on anyways. He swung through the hangar, picked up his car and drove to Natasha's apartment. When he pulled up however, Natasha was leaving. He knew she would kill him if he followed her, but he decided it might be worth it to get a glimpse into her personal life. Clint didn't even think she had a personal life, he certainly didn't. So, he followed her, personal health be damned.

He drove discreetly behind her, using his SHIELD training to hopefully avoid detection, although if anyone could catch him, Natasha could. About twenty minutes later he was sitting in front of a dance studio. _Huh_. He thought. Either she had given him the slip, knew he was behind her, or some other third option. He had no idea what that would be doing at a dance studio.

He waited in his car as he watched her get out, throwing a black bag over her shoulder. She'd changed since he last saw her. Instead of her training attire, she was not in long black leggings and a simple black tank top with a pair of white converse. She had her hair pulled back into a bun as well instead of her usual ponytail. She tossed her keys in her bag and pushed her sunglasses up on her head as she walked into the building. Clint thought she looked normal, like an average person with a normal job or like she went to college. Quite frankly, she looked like she didn't kill people for a living. It was refreshing to see her this way.

Clint waited in his car for bout half an hour before he walked in so he was sure this is where she intended to be. He grabbed his fake NYPD badge that SHIELD gave him a few years ago out of his glove compartment, thinking that he might need it. When he go inside he walked over to the receptionist's desk, hands in his pockets.

"Hi, I'm looking for a young red-headed woman, about yay-high." He told the woman at the desk, using his hand to indicate Natasha's height against his own body.

"Can I ask why?" She responded with a harsh glare at Clint. He only smiled an flashed his badge at her.

"I've got a few questions for her." The receptionist's expression immediately changed into one of fear and she looked down.

"She's in the fourth room down the hall on your left." She told him in a soft voice.

"Thanks." He replied with a sarcastic smile before turning in the direction where Natasha would be. He found the room and stood still outside it for a minute. He was unsure if he was actually going to go in there considering there was a very very good chance that she would cause him bodily harm for following her. He pressed his ear to the door first though, and was practically shocked by what he heard. A faint drift of classical music was heard through the door, and for some reason, that scared him.

It's not that classical music actually scared him, it was that he had no idea what he was about to walk into. Nothing about this situation added up and it didn't feel right. However, he had made up his mind and he wasn't going to back down. He took a deep breath, and silently pushed the door open.

**Thanks so much for everybody who's read and reviewed! New reviews are always welcomed and appreciated. **


	10. Chapter 10

His jaw practically hit the floor at the sight in front of him. To be honest, he half expected to find a dead body, but this was the exact opposite. His eyes were fixed on Natasha who was, much to his surprise, dancing. Ballet dancing, to be exact. En pointe to be even more exact. The girl never ceased to surprise him.

He finally gathered himself and leaned against the door frame crossing his arms with a small smile on his lips. He watched in wonder as Natasha moved gracefully across the floor. It was an incredible sight. She moved with such purpose and fluidity that she almost looked inhuman. She was always so cold and hard with him, but here she seemed so soft and rounded. Her face was completely and utterly relaxed as she swept across the floor, bending her limbs in ways Clint didn't even think was possible.

He stood there watching her until the music wound down, and he clapped lightly from his spot near the door only to duck a second later as a knife flew past his head.

"Jesus fucking christ, Nat!" He yelled as the blade nearly grazed his face. "Would you stop trying to kill me every five goddamn minutes!"

"What the fuck are you doing here, Barton!" She yelled as she pulled another blade out of her hair threateningly.

"I just came here to talk to you!" He replied innocently, holding his hands out in front of him partly in surrender and partly in defense.

"So you followed me here?" She screeched as she whipped her second blade at him. He dodged this one too, but only just.

"Well, yeah, a little bit. I was curious." He explained, hoping she didn't have anymore weapons on her.

"I'm beginning to think you have a death wish, Barton." She relaxed a bit and didn't reach for anymore weapons, so Clint relaxed too. He decided to ignore Natasha's last comment.

"So, you dance?" He asked tentatively. She responded with a harsh glare.

"That's not what you came here to talk about." She told him pointedly. Clearly dancing was one of her many 'off-limits' subjects. Clint sighed frustratedly.

"That doesn't mean we can't talk about it." He tried with a small, hopeful smile.

"Or, alternatively, we could not." She shot back with a look that told him to drop it. He did for the time being, but they both knew he would bring it up again later. But, for now, he changed the subject to his original reason for following her.

"You know, I'd never thought I'd live to see the day when you actually would, voluntarily, tell me something about yourself." He said as he walked over to Natasha. She didn't respond immediately, instead rising up on the points on her ballet shoes and hugging her legs so her body was folded completely in half.

"Yeah, well, I'm sick of all your damn questions." Clint grimaced at Natasha's position.

"That looks extremely painful." He commented, sitting down so their heads were leveled just a few inches apart from each other. Natasha dropped her hands to the floor, lifted her legs off the ground and crossed her legs indian-style all the while balancing just on her hands.

"Oh, now you're just showing off." Clint scoffed. Natasha only smirked and lowered her crossed legs down to the ground so that she was now sitting opposite Clint.

"So, why are you here?" She asked bluntly, getting right to the core of his visit. If there was one thing Natasha hated, it was beating around the bush. Clint took a deep breath and looked his partner directly in her eyes. She, as always, wore a blank mask that was nearly impossible to read. But, after a year of spending an obscene amount of time with this woman, he was learning to read her. She was nervous. He could see it in her eyes.

"You wanted me to kill you, Nat. That's why you let me beat you." He said softly, without breaking eye contact. Natasha kept her face blank, not visibly responding to his words at all.

"You're smarter than I give you credit for." She said simply.

"I'm hurt, Natasha!" Clint shot back with faux indignation, Natasha smiled a bit at that, but then Clint put on a more serious face. "Why?"

Natasha didn't answer immediately, instead dropping her eyes downward. She began to take off her ballet shoes, the silken ribbons gliding gently through her fingers as she slipped them off her feet and set them in front of her.

"Because," She said after some time. "there is freedom in death." She said flatly, without meeting Clint's eyes. "The same reason I still wish you had."

Clint didn't say anything in response, and she was grateful for it. The silence between them was deafening until Natasha finally broke it again.

"I've got a nasty past Clint, one you don't really want to know anything about. And, it doesn't leave you, not ever. You can't run from it and you can't change it. It becomes who you are. People like me, we don't change, not really. We just become better at hiding who we really are."

Clint was more than shocked at her sudden, unprovoked display of honestly and openness. He simply looked at the young assassin and, for the first time in the time he's known her, she looked vulnerable. He reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. She stiffened considerably, a look of confusion crossing her face, but didn't fight back.

"What are you doing?" She asked as Clint wrapped his arms around her.

"It's a hug, Nat. I'm hugging you." He told her, a bit of frustrated sarcasm leaking through his patient voice.

"I know that!" She said pulling away from him. "I just don't know why." She added softly. Clint just smiled as she sat back down in front of him.

"Because, thats just what people do, Natasha. It was to say thank you." He explained.

"For what?"

"For trusting me." She scoffed and stood up abruptly. She always moved oddly in Clint's eyes, she almost never used her hands getting up, instead just pressing down with her legs like a hydraulic press. It always amused him, the way she moved.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked standing up with her.

"You're a sap, Barton. And, a hypocrite." Clint was confused by the second part of her assessment of him.

"How am I a hypocrite?" Natasha grabbed her ballet shoes and walked over to put them in her bag, and slipped into her shoes.

"Because, you're always questioning me about my past, but you never talk about your own."

"My past is boring." He told her a bit too sternly to be believable.

"Oh, I highly doubt that." She said with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

"Why?"

"Because you're one of SHIELD's top field agents." She explained matter-of-factly

"What does that have to do with anything"

"Because everyone who's even half-decent in this business is just as fucked up as I am." Her sharp eyes fixed on Clint's as he shifted uneasily across the room from her. She grabbed her bag and started walking towards the door before Clint said anything.

"What do you want to know?" He asked, following her to the door. She turned and faced him suddenly, their faces only inches apart.

"Nothing." She whispered with a sly smile on her lips before turning back and breezed out of the room, leaving a baffled Clint in her wake. He stood there for a minute, unsure of whether or not he was going to follow her. He did.

"Tasha!" He called after her, catching up to her in the parking lot. "Why not?" Natasha thought he sounded almost offended.

"Because I don't doubt your humanity like you do mine." She kept her back turned to him as she said this so he couldn't read her, digging through her bag for her keys as a cover.

"Tasha, I don't..." He started to defend himself, but Natasha quickly turned to face him and cut him off.

"You can save it, Barton. I know you do, I would too if I were in your place. You're so interested in my past because you're so desperate to humanize me. It's the same reason you were so insistent on the whole nickname thing. You want to go poking around in all the dark corners of my brain to find out who the Black Widow really is. Everybody at SHIELD is still convinced I'm a monster, and you're just not sure yet." Clint couldn't even think of what to say in response as he looked searchingly at his partner. She was right, completely right, and he hadn't even realized it. He was speechless.

Natasha turned back and climbed into her car, closing the door sharply behind her. When she started her car she rolled down her window and said one final thing to her partner.

"Don't feel bad about it, I question my humanity too, but don't pretend that's not your _real_ reason for wanting to know so much about me. I'll see ya around, Clint." With that she drove off, Clint didn't follow her this time. He just watched as Natasha drove off, hating how easily she could read him.

Clint and Natasha didn't see each other until they ran into each other (literally) at base. Natasha turned a corner only to have her head smack against Clint's chest while she was adjusting her uniform.

"Hey, watch where your walkin' Natasha!" He joked as they both took a step back from each other. She only rolled her eyes and walked around him, still fidgeting with the belt around her hips to tighten it. He walked after her, having nothing else better to do.

"Why are you in uniform, Nat?" They weren't on a mission or even called onto base, so he was genuinely curious on where she was headed.

"I'm leaving in about twenty minutes, I've got a mission." Clint held out a hand in front of her to stop her.

"They're sending you on a mission without me?" He looked a little hurt and Natasha chuckled.

"More like an assist. There's another team that Fury thinks could use my help on an interrogation. So, I'll be back in a few days. Try not to look that much like a kicked puppy while I'm gone." She teased as she stepped around him.

"That's so not fair!" He cried jogging after her. "I'm bored out my freaking mind here and they send _you_ off to have all the fun."

"You're such a child sometimes, Barton." She snapped as he pouted beside her. She ignored him as she pulled her other belt around her waist and clipped it, fastening it snugly over her navel.

"What's that belt for?" Clint asked, snapping out of his moping attitude.

"Black Widow, the spiders, have a distinguishing red marking on their stomach."

"So why do you have the belt?" He was still unsure why she had it.

" I read a book once, and there was a part of it that has stuck with me since. 'Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."' * She quoted airily, her eyes glazed over like she was remembering something.

"I spent a lot of time trying to run away from being the Black Widow, but it never really worked. I am the Black Widow." She finished with determination.

"So, the belt is to remind you of who you are?"

"More like what I am." She muttered under her breath, Clint chose to ignore that one for the time being.

"How'd you get the name, anyways?"

"The Black Widow spider is famous for biting the heads off of those she mates with. How do you figure I got the name?" She said dryly as they walked down to the hangar so she could catch her plane. Clint didn't say anything more as they walked through the halls together until she was literally getting on the plane.

"You know you were wrong about one thing the other day, Tasha." He called up the stairs as she boarded. She paused and walked back down to him.

"Only one thing, better than I thought." She mused as she descended. "And what was that?" She asked him when she reached a step that made them the same height.

"I'm not trying to get to know the Black Widow. I'm trying to get to know Natasha Romanoff. And, she's a whole 'nother woman." On that he turned and walked away, leaving a slightly confused Natasha on the plane stairs. "Be careful, will ya?" He called over his shoulder as he retreated, Natasha only rolled her eyes and boarded her plane. Off to Somalia she thought with a small grin as she stepped lightly back into the plane.

* Quote from George RR Martin's _A Game of Thrones _


	11. Chapter 11

When she got on Coulson was already there waiting for her. He as assigned to accompany her on the ride over to brief her on the situation as well as oversee the interrogation. Coulson secretly dreaded having to face Natasha by himself, but didn't let that show as she slid into the seat across from him.

"Agent Romanoff, thank you for agreeing to assist on this mission." Coulson, as always, was strictly professional.

"It's my pleasure, sir. Though, may I ask why I was chosen for this?" She crossed her legs delicately, her usual blank mask put on.

"It is out understanding that you have a knack for unconventional interrogation methods. Is that not true?"

"That depends on your definition of 'unconventional'. I suspect it's much different from mine." The thought of Natasha's own definition of unconventional made Coulson just a bit uncomfortable, there were things about Romanoff that he just didn't want to know.

"Well, we're confident a straight-up, confrontational interrogation won't work. We need another solution to our problem, that's where you come in." He tossed a file on the table in front of her. She picked it up an leafed through it carefully, a comfortable silence falling between the two of them.

"Why are we going after him? I mean, he's a nasty guy, so why are we going through the trouble of questioning him?"

"A few weeks ago he got his hands on a piece of SHIELD technology, and sold it. We want it back." She nodded an went back to the file. She spoke up again a few minute later.

"For a guy with a lot of money, he's operating out of a pretty low-budget base. The best option I can see here is a reverse interrogation." Coulson sighed heavily, he hated those. They almost always ended up with dead agents.

"Is there any other option for us here?" Natasha raised her eyebrows at him skeptically, and leaned back in her seat.

"Well, there's always torture." She offered with shrug a little too casually for comfort.

"SHIELD liked to stay away from that one whenever possible." He shot her a stern look to which Natasha didn't respond.

"Then, reverse interrogation it is. Who are the other agents there now?" Coulson looked through a file of his own, pulling out single sheet of paper and reading it intently.

"You mean, you don't know, Coulson?"

"Hey, I'm yours and Barton's handler, I'm here to supervise you, not these other agents." A moment later he looked up again. "Looks like it's Morse and Brooks."

"It _would_ be her." Natasha mumbled under her breath, crossing her arms in clear displeasure.

"There a problem, Agent?" He eyed her suspiciously, more than aware of her reputation around SHIELD.

"You _know_ Morse won't work with me. Brooks too."

"I'm not asking you to work with them." He stated simply.

"No, I suppose not. You're only asking me to trust two people who really aren't too fond of me to be my backup if something goes wrong." She shot him a pointed look, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"And why won't Morse or Brooks work with you?"

"Well, because Bobbi is pretty much convinced I'm screwing her husband. And Brooks is pretty much convinced I'm screwing his partner's husband. That might be the cause for some tension."

"And are you?" Coulson asked bluntly. Natasha shot him an 'are you fucking kidding me right now glare'.

"No, I'm not. For christ's sake I can barely stand to be around him 90% of the time." Natasha was so fucking tired of trying to convince people that she was not, in fact, sleeping with Clint. The unfounded rumors infuriated her to no end, she swore she was going to punch the next person who asked her about it. Coulson eyed her disbelievingly, but dropped it when she returned a particularly murderous glare.

"So, back to the mission." Coulson nodded once and they moved on. "I go in and get caught, I get the information you want and then get out. Simple enough." Coulson scoffed.

"Simple? Most agents would've pissed themselves at the thought of having to do a reverse interrogation and you're talking about 'simple'?" Natasha narrowed her eyes at him.

"I'm not most agents Coulson." A thick silence fell between them. "It's a small base with relatively few guards who aren't even professionally trained. It's not anything I can't handle." Her controlled and stern voice as well as stiff, restrained body helped Coulson learn one very important thing about Natasha that day, don't underestimate her. She doesn't like it.

"You didn't bring me along because _I_ have a reputation, you brought me along because _where I came from_ does. And, I was their best. So, you'd do well to let me do what I was trained to do." Coulson eyed the tense girl in front of him. Oh, he knew perfectly well what she was capable of considering he was, after all, her handler. But, Fury still had reservations about her that he pandered to.

"You won't have any means of communicating us once you're inside." He pointed out. Natasha relaxed a little when Coulson brought the conversation back to the mission and she leaned back in her seat.

"Risk vs. Reward, Coulson." She stated simply as he mulled over her suggestion.

"Okay." He said after some deliberation. "How are you getting in?"

"I'm planning on walking, though I wouldn't turn down a ride." Coulson's mouth dropped.

"Just walking in, that's your plan?"

"Yeah. I mean, closer to sneaking in, then get caught looking through records or something. They won't kill me because they'll want to know who sent me. So, that's my in." Coulson secretly marveled the speed at which her brain worked when it came to this. He nodded once after thinking it over.

They spent the remainder of the flight hashing out minor details and creating a rock-solid plan for everybody to follow. Much to Natasha's relief, she wouldn't have to work with Bobbi unless things went horribly sideways.

"Should I have a medic on standby?" Coulson asked as their plane landed.

"Umm..." She thought about it for a minute, remembering what she read in the files, before answering. "Probably, yeah." She concluded. Coulson shifted uneasily. Natasha sensed his unease and tried to reassure him that she would be fine.

"It won't be anything new for me in there, alright. I just heal quickly, so the medic would only be for bones." Coulson paled.

"Bones?!"

"Yeah, I need broken bones set quicker so my body doesn't heal them wrong and I have to get them broken all over again." Coulson cringed at the thought of having to re-break bones, but quickly shoved those thought aside.

"I'll be fine." She assured, and he went with it. He didn't really have any other options anymore.

They made their way to the rundown apartment where the other agents were. Natasha would much prefer the torture than seeing Bobbi, but she didn't really have a choice. Though, apparently, both agents were unaware of Natasha's arrival.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Both of them snapped when she walked in behind Coulson.

"Agent Romanoff is the assist you requested Agent Morse." Coulson replied a little coldly. He wasn't going to stand for any of this petty bullshit on a mission like this.

"I asked for a _qualified_ agent." Natasha crossed her arms, but kept her face blank while Coulson talked to Bobbi.

"Yes, and after some deliberation we determined that Agent Romanoff is the most qualified agent, not only for this particular task, but as an overall agent. So, I suggest you keep any further comments about the qualifications of Agent Romanoff to yourself." Natasha smirked, _damn_, she thought, _Coulson's a badass._

Natasha stood silently as Coulson informed Morse and Brooks of the plan. They both looked at her skeptically when he said she would be doing a reverse interrogation.

"Really Coulson, a reverse interrogation? Those rarely work with senior agents and you're going to send in her? How many interrogations could she have possibly done?" Natasha finally decided to speak up.

"I've been doing this longer than you have, Bobbi, and I think you'd be surprised at the number of interrogations I've done." She had a menacing edge in her voice that told them all they didn't really want to know that number.

"Plus," Natasha continued after nobody said. "Reverse interrogations are easy if you've been trained properly. SHIELD agents simply haven't and that's why they always go south." Bobbi's body language shifted from hostile to defensive at Natasha's words.

"We've all been trained in reverse interrogation." She shot back defiantly.

"I'm not denying that. You have been trained, just poorly trained." She shrugged nonchalantly while she walked over to sit in a rickety chair by a window.

"And I supposed you've had better training than SHIELD, right?" Coulson was surprised at Bobbi's behavior, usually she was relatively agreeable and followed orders. He'd never seen her so angry and sarcastic before.

"Yes." Natasha replied simply with a small smile and Bobbi scoffed.

"Yeah, right." She muttered under her breath.

"You can believe whatever you want, but your boss and your bosses boss both agree than I'm more qualified than you, so your opinion is kind of invalid."The look of pure indignation that crossed Bobbi's face made her want to laugh, but she refrained, knowing that Coulson wouldn't like it. Coulson spoke up again after a moment of silence.

"Agent Romanoff, you ready?" Night was beginning to fall and she had to get moving soon.

"Always." She reached up and removed her comm unit from her ears and set in on the table. She and Coulson then left, and he drove Natasha as close to the building she was infiltrating as possible. She got out of the car around the back of the building next to her target.

"Romanoff's going dark." Coulson said through his comms to Bobbi and Brooks back at their little base.

"Do you really have to tell them what I'm doing, Coulson." Natasha whined a bit as she double checked her weapons.

"It's procedure. I'll be waiting for your call Romanoff." Natasha gave him a single, curt not before turning and scaling the fire escape on the building. Coulson watched as she made it up the building with an incredible amount of speed and agility. Romanoff and Coulson often clashed, so did she and Barton for that matter, but she was certainly a force to be reckoned with. He rarely got to see her in action, and when he did he was always in awe of her perfectly honed skills raw talent. He wouldn't hesitate to call her the best agent he's ever worked with, or the most irritatingly stubborn one either. He drove off when he lost sight of her at the top of the building.

Natasha made her was quickly across the room of the building she was on so she could jump to the building that was her target. She stepped right up the edge to get a better judge of the distance before stepping back a few feet to get a running start. She took a deep breath and shook out her arms a bit before running at the edge of the building. She felt that familiar rush of adrenaline scorch her veins as her foot left the solid concrete and was, for a few brief moments, had nothing under her feet until she landed expertly on the rooftop opposite. She stood up and smiled, _you still got it Romanoff_, she thought. It had been over a year since she got to work alone, and she was thoroughly enjoying the freedom that came with solidarity.

She snuck across the rooftop to the one of the glass panel sunroofs and kicked it in. She needed to be caught anyways so what was the point of overcomplicating breaking in? Natasha dropped into the building and stilled, she heard in the shouting of guards stirring in the distance. Sticking to the shadows, Natasha made her way to the room where they kept their information of a more sensitive nature and used her Widow's Bite to knock out the guard, but not with enough force to keep him out for long. She lifted the keys off his dead body and entered the room, leaving the keys in the lock. This was the part Natasha had been looking forward too. She moved through the room quickly, opening random file cabinets and littering files and papers on the ground to make it look like she was looking for something specific. There was something oddly satisfying about ransacking a place, she couldn't explain it, but it just felt good. Five minutes later when several armed guards burst in yelling in arabic, she felt pretty satisfied with the state of disarray. Though, this is where things got tricky.

The guards brought Natasha to a dimly lit room with a single chair in the center and a table in the corner, they quickly removed all of her weapons (or so they thought) and tossed them on the table. That was their first mistake. This was going to be easy. She smirked at the thought and was rewarded by the sharp scrape of knuckles connecting with her cheekbones. She spat the blood that pooled in her mouth on the boot of one of the guards before looking up an smiling wickedly. She received another harsh slap across the face as she was forced down onto the chair with her hands tied behind her back. The guard tying her up quickly dropped to the ground when he grabbed her palms and she smirked, she had turned her Widow's Bite back up to full power and they hadn't taken them off her. He was dead, more than likely. Another guard finished tying her up, careful of her hands and exited the room, leaving her alone. About an hour later by her judgement, the man she'd been looking for arrived.

The leader of this particularly nasty operation was an american by the name of Chris Becker who was all kinds of sick and twisted. He inherited billions of dollars from his parents and is now using to help fund small wars throughout Africa. He had recently managed to get his hands on a highly encrypted flashdrive with the personal information of hundreds of SHIELD agents. It was her job to uncover who he had sold it to, if he had sold it at all. Coulson told her did, but she wasn't quite convinced.

"Good morning." He greeted her with a vomit inducing smile. "I'm afraid I don't know your name, miss." Natasha didn't respond. She prided herself on her uncanny ability to withstand interrogation that she'd honed over many years of practice. She would be a walk in the park compared to some of the things the Red Room put her through.

"Now, deary, isn't it only fair that I get to know your name seeing as how you already know mine?" Great, she thought bitterly, _he's one of the seriously fucked up variety_.

"Natasha." She gave up sweetly, matching his tone. The trick about reverse interrogation that they didn't teach SHIELD agents is that it's not about not giving anything up to your interrogator, it's about giving up just enough to make them comfortable. It's about letting them feel in control when you're really three steps ahead of them.

"And, who do you work for, Natasha." His voice hardened considerably, he was not beating around the bush. Natasha, however, remained silent. Becker removed a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open.

"C'mon, Natasha. We don't have to do this the hard way."

"I think we should." She replied with a smirk, a second later the blade whipped past her head, leaving a large, deep gash in her cheek. She clenched her jaw, but didn't show any sign of pain beyond that.

"We can if you like, sweetheart." The sickening sweetness in his voice earlier was long gone, his tone now bitter and venomous. Becker was already getting frustrated while Natasha was only warming up.

Multiple knife wounds that would probably need stitched, a concussion, more bruises than she cared to count, and three broken bones later, Natasha had what she came here for.

"SHEILD is pathetic if they thing they're ever getting that drive back! They'll never find it." He shouted in triumph after snapping Natasha's arm like a twig. Though his joy was somewhat dampened by the fact that her only reaction was to smile at him. But, that didn't matter, Natasha had what she needed. Becker hadn't sold the drive at all, it was still in the building.

Natasha steeled herself against the inevitable pain as she ripped through the thing rope that bound her wrists, and before Becker even knew what what happening, he had a knife plunged through his heart.

"You really should be more careful about removing all the weapons off your prisoners." She told him with a satisfied smile as the life drained from his eyes. A guard rushed into the room and Natasha whipped the knife at him, burying itself in the man's stomach. She made quick work of grabbing her things and heading out of the room, cradling her broken arm. She made her way through the building to Becker's office, dropping every guard that got in her way without hesitation.

When she got to his office she stormed through it in a rushed, but thorough search, and she found the drive locked in a safe. She had to blow the cover off, but she got it. She suddenly felt lightheaded as she began to work her way down and out of the building. Her leg was bleeding quite a lot from several knife wounds and the pain from her arm was making her sick. She desperately needed to get out of here soon and call Coulson or she was going to pass out here. Natasha managed to slip out the back of the building and had run several blocks to slip some pursuing guards. When Natasha was sure she was alone, she took out the GPS locator Coulson had given her before she started so they could find her. Natasha leaned heavily against the concrete wall of an alley and sunk down to the ground as her body started to shake from the blood loss.

Ten minutes later she managed to haul her barely conscious self to her feet when she heard a car approaching. She stumbled into the car, shock and worry apparent on the faces of Coulson, Morse, and Brooks as they took in the sight of her. Natasha's always perfect hair was tangles and matted with blood that dripped down on her face from her head and lips. Several dark bruises covered her face and neck, and probably more they couldn't see. There were several deep cuts in her uniform on her stomach that were bleeding as well as one sharp stab wound in her leg, and she was cradling her left arm that was broken at an odd angle. And still, even in this condition, she refused help as she got into the car.

"Yeah, I think I might be needing that medic after all Coulson." She slurred out with a small smile as her head rolled back against the headrest.

"We've got a medical carrier ready to take you back to New York right now, just hold on until then." His tone told her it was an order to keep breathing. About 15 minutes later they stopped, by then breathing had become quite difficult for Natasha.

"I told you these never work, Coulson!" Bobbi shouted at him as paramedics pulled Natasha from the car and strapped her to a stretcher. Natasha let out a wheezy chuckle from her stretcher, catching the attention of all the agents.

"Speak for yourself, Bobbi." She croaked out, opening her clenched fist to reveal a small black flashdrive. Coulson quickly took it from her before the paramedics loaded her onto the helicopter, all of them frantically working over her.


	12. Chapter 12

Coulson, Brooks, and Morse were left standing on the asphalt of the small airport they were in, all of them wondering how the hell Natasha even managed to function for so long after injuries like that were inflicted on her. They all knew she could heal quicker, but the pain must've been unbearable. Bobbi had watched her carefully when they were in the car together and, even though she didn't like Natasha, even she had to admit that her pain tolerance and ability to remain focused when under conditions like that were impressive. They all looked worriedly at the blood covered seat that Natasha used to be in before getting on their own plane back to New York.

Meanwhile, Clint, who was back at base, paced nervously around the helipad. Coulson had called him earlier and told him about Natasha. Clint had been furious and shouted abuse at Coulson for a solid five minutes before hanging up on him. Coulson sighed when the phone clicked dead, he was pretty used to Clint's erratic behavior by now, so it didn't bother him too much. Clint finally calmed down enough to sit down when he heard the helicopter in the distance and leapt back to his feet. Just a week and a half ago she got impaled, and now she was back on the operating table. The CMO, Mccoy rushed up as they unloaded Natasha from the helicopter. Clint gasped when he say her. She looked was worse than when they were in South America.

The small amount of color Natasha had in her skin had left, leaving her looking sickeningly pale. They had managed to get Natasha out of her uniform, and her exposed body looked like it'd been through hell. She was covered in cuts and scrapes and bruised. Dried blood on her skin contrasted sharply with her bone-white skin. She was unconscious and barely breathing, Clint heard something about 'massive blood loss' from on of the medics as Mccoy bent over her as they moved her quickly to the med bay. Clint jogged lightly behind them, giving the doctor's plenty of room to work. He was forced to stop when they wheeled her into the OR, being told sternly that he was not allowed in there. So, he went back to his previously scheduled pacing just outside the doors to the OR.

Two hours later Mccoy came out and talked to him.

"We think she's going to be alright, Barton." He told him calmly as he tossed his bloody gloves in the biohazard bin.

"Think?" He snapped at the doctor. What did he mean 'think'?

"Well, she's lost a lot of blood. So much, in fact, that if she were an average human being, she would've died. But, we can't give her a blood transfusion so..."

"Why not?" Clint asked, interrupting him.

"She's not an average human." He stated simply. "Her body works differently than yours or mine. Because of those differences, we don't know what would happen if we put in blood that wasn't compatible for her. I mean, she could be fine. But, also, if her body rejected the blood, it could kill her. We've put her into a medically induced coma for the time being. In a few days her blood levels should be more or less normal and we can wake her up to fix her arm."

"Her arm?"

"It was broken but healed before we could set it properly. When she's better we'll have to break it again to set it properly." Clint cringed at the though.

"You can see her if you want," Clint's head snapped up at that. "She's in room 210." Clint pushed past Mccoy without another word and jogged to 210. She still looked like hell when, covered in bandages with multiple iv's stuck in her arms with the tubes to one of those life support respirators jammed down her throat. Her left forearm was bent, sharp bone pushing up against her skin. He walked over and sat down in the chair next to her bed. His mind went blank as he stared at his partner. She looked so drastically different from what he knew that he had a hard time believing it was really her.

Not thinking much of anything in particular, Clint easily lost track of time by Natasha's bedside. He only glanced up at the clock when Bobbi walked in some time later. It was 2:30 in the morning.

"How's she doing?" Bobbi asked as she took the seat next to Clint.

"They think she'll be fine." He told her, worry evident in his voice. "How'd you know?" Clint managed to peel his eyes away from his corpse-like partner to look at his wife.

"She was sent to assist on my mission, so..." She trailed off and dropped her eyed to her lap.

"What happened?" Bobbi took a deep breath in and wrung her hands together before looking back up at Clint.

"Brooks and I found the building Becker was staying in and did all the recon and groundwork for an infiltration, but we thought he had sold the drive already so we needed a way to get that information other than just storming the place." She took another deep breath.

"Where does Natasha fit into this?" Clint's voice was stern, but not harsh as he pressed her for information.

"We needed an interrogator, and Coulson and Fury picked her." Clint tensed as she continued. "But, the only way to get the information from him other than torture was reverse interrogation." Bobbi's voice was barely above a whisper as she finished her sentence. Clint clenched his jaw tightly and balled his fists until his knuckles were white. After a solid five minutes he relaxed again and sat back in his seat.

"I'm going to murder, Coulson." He muttered, rubbing his temples. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minute until Bobbi spoke up again,

"You know, if your places were reversed right now, she wouldn't be here for you." She told him softly, placing a hand of his shoulder.

Contrary to popular belief, Natasha wasn't a cold person. In fact, she tended to burn hot. She was fierce and more passionate than anybody he had ever met though she didn't often show it. Natasha had a full range of emotions, she was just really good at hiding them, but that didn't mean she didn't feel. It took him a solid six months before he could really start to read her, and it's gotten easier and easier since. Learning to read Natasha was like learning new language, once it finally clicked, it kept getting easier over time.

"I'm not so sure about that." He replied blankly, his eyes fixed on Natasha. "I think we're all a bit wrong about her. I don't think she's heartless at all. I think she's just be trained to suppress all that." Bobbi stood up suddenly, drawing Clint's attention to her.

"What makes you so sympathetic to her?" She asked him heatedly.

"Is it really so hard to see why, Bobbi?" He shot back, rising to his feet as well.

"What's that supposed to mean." Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Is it really so hard to see why I'm sympathetic to Natasha? Really? Because I'd think it was pretty clear why." He paused waiting for Bobbi to speak, when she didn't he continued. "She's no different than I was before I came to SHIELD. I was just a kid using an odd skill set to get by just like her. Who knows where I'd be right now if Coulson hadn't given me a second chance. This job, being here, saved me. Maybe it can save her too." When he finished he sat back down and dropped his head into his hands. Bobbi knelt down in front of her, placing her tanned hands on his knees.

"I'm sorry." She whispered softly. Clint looked up from his hands and when he met her pleading eyes, he softened considerably. He reached forward and gently cupped her face, brushing her hair over her ear. Leaning forward, he kissed her sweetly, grateful they weren't fighting for once. When he pulled back, she stood up and brushed her hand through his hair.

"I'm gonna head home, alright? I'll see you tomorrow." She bent down and kissed him one last time before turning and leaving the medical wing. Clint, however, spent the rest of the night there, drifting into an uneasy sleep in his chair by Natasha's side. He woke up a few hours later and glanced at the clock. It was almost 9:30 and he had to report for training detail in the shooting range in half an hour. He groaned as he got up and stretched his tight muscles before heading down to the SHIELD locker room to grab a quick shower, casting a long, concerned look at Natasha before slipping quietly out of her room.

The next six hours were agonizing in the training room. For one thing, he hated being on training detail. It's not that he didn't have the patience for it, as a sniper he had the patience for damn near anything, he just hated new recruits. They were always nervous and incompetent and there was always at least one girl who tried to hit on him, it was just not a good time. That coupled with his never ending concern for his partner put him on edge. The group he was working with in the firing range noticed almost immediately when Clint spaced out about 3 hours into their training.

"Agent Barton, is everything alright?" One of the women asked him. He hadn't really bothered to remember their names, so they all pretty much ran together. He snapped out of his daze immediately.

"Yeah, get back to work." He instructed as he noticed that all 10 trainees had their eyes trained on him. None of them moved.

"Is your partner going to be alright?" The same girl asked not meeting his eyes, hesitation clear in her voice. Even as new recruits, they had already learned about the dynamic between partnered teams at SHEILD. They were often a very inseparable duos that gravitated around each other. You could visibly see if people were partners just based on how they moved around each other. They had also learned that Barton and Romanoff were far from the average SHIELD partnership and were seen bickering or physically fighting each other in equal parts more often than they were seen being friendly towards each other.

"Word really does travel fast around here." Clint muttered, rubbing his forehead before looking back at the group in front of him. "She's fine." He snapped . "Get back to work." He instructed. They all jumped a bit, but did what they were told.

The last half of the training passed without further incident, for which Clint was extremely grateful. SHEILD, like any other workplace, was a giant rumor mill. Everybody loved to talk about everybody else. Normally Clint didn't mind it, he hadn't been at the center of the gossip since he first got recruited for SHIELD. But, now, the rumors and talk about him irritated him to no end. He didn't share anything about his life with these people for a reason, so they were hell bent on talking about it for him, accuracy be damned.

He hurried back up to Natasha's med room when he was done training for the day and was pleased by what he saw. She was still paler than normal, but a considerable amount of color had returned to her skin, and it didn't look so papery and brittle. He took the seat by her bed again, falling asleep at her side sometime later like he had the previous night.

This went on for the next two days until, on the third day when Clint was training, he was called up to the med bay. He quickly excused himself from the trainees and make his way briskly to Natasha's room. When he arrived he was Mccoy and a nurse in the room with Natasha, a needle in Mccoy's hand.

"Good, you're here." Mccoy said to Clint as he walked over to them. "We're going to wake her up now. I think it would be helpful if there was a familiar face when she did." Clint nodded and sat down in his designated chair beside her as Mccoy injected something into her IV bag.

"She'll wake up an an hour or so. Call us when she does. She'll need water when she wakes up."Clint nodded and Mccoy handed him a bottle of water before they both walked out leaving Clint alone with Natasha.

He secretly dreaded having to be here when she woke up. Her general disdain for people caring about her and utter hatred of hospitals made him think that being here might cause him some injury too. But, regardless of his concerns for his own person well being, he sat dutifully by her side.

About 40 minutes later Clint heard the steady, pulsing rhythm of Natasha's heart monitor picking up. He looked up and saw Natasha squirm slightly in her bed and her hands clenched into fists. She groaned slightly as she began waking up.

"Natasha?" Clint asked, resting his hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open and she sat up abruptly with a wild look on her face. She reached up and yanked the respirator tube out of her mouth and began to pull the IV's out of her arm before Clint managed to pin her down, putting all his weight into keeping her still. Both fear and panic flashed in her eyes as Clint immobilized her.

"Natasha! Hey, calm down. You're okay." After about a minute of repeating that mantra she relaxed and Clint let her go. She sat up calmly and ran her hands through her hair, wincing slightly as she felt the staples that the doctor had put over her cut.

"How're you feeling, Tasha?" He asked tentatively as he pushed the button by her bed to page the doctor.

"Umm..." She started but her voice was dry and cracked. "Thirsty." She managed to choke out after some time. Talking was clearly a struggle. He reached down and grabbed the bottle of water Mccoy had given him and opened it. She took it gratefully, the cool water felt like heaven on her throat as she downed the whole bottle. She sat upright after finishing the water, panting slightly, her head hanging down so her chin rested against her chest. She took deep, steady breaths to calm herself down. She hated hospitals, she hated doctors. Rightfully so too after after everything they'd done to her.

"Better?" Clint's voice broke through her thoughts and she turned her head to look at him, worry and sleep deprivation clearly written on his face. How long had she been out? She wondered as she brought her head up again and cleared her throat.

"Much. How long have I been out?"

"Three days." He told her simply.

"Three days?" Panic returned to her eyes and she yanked out another IV from her arm as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Woah, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Clint jumped off his seat and pushed her firmly back down onto the bed as she tried to stand up. She shoved him hard, but he stood his ground as he caught her wrist in his iron grip and the bed was high enough off the ground so she couldn't get her feet on the ground to use her legs as leverage. She was still struggling against him when the doctor walked in. He and the nurse rushed over and Natasha went as stiff as a board.

"Give her some space, Doc." He warned as she redoubled her efforts against him.

"Natasha, hey. Look at me. You're safe." She looked up at her partner and relaxed. Clint's tight grip loosening as she did so and she repositioned herself on the bed. Clint looked at her questioningly and she gave him a small nod. He backed away and went back to his chair, motioning for the doctors to go ahead. Natasha swept her legs back up onto the bed and lied back, letting the doctor examine her. She was unbelievably tense and Clint thought she was about to snap at the doctor again.

"Everything looks good Agent Romanoff. I'll schedule resetting your arm for later this afternoon, in the meantime you're free to go." Mccoy was a little apprehensive about letting her out of the med bay, but he ultimately decided that keeping her here would be worse for all involved. She relaxed and got out of bed, and for the first time, she noticed the hospital issued cotton pants and shirt and cringed. They were a bit too big on her, hanging dangerously low on her hips and Clint had to force himself to look away from her before his mind wandered too far into dangerous territory.

Clint would be lying if he said he didn't find Natasha attractive. She was, after all, a damn fine looking woman who was all kinds of pleasing, but she was his partner. He always managed to nip any unsavory thoughts in the bud, but they seemed to be cropping up more and more and it was frustrating. He was married, and he loved his wife. So, why was Natasha so goddamn appealing to him? She was cold and harsh and unforgiving. She never hesitated to beat his ass or insult him. He should hate her, but for some reason, he didn't. In any case, he couldn't be in a relationship with Natasha even if he wanted to (which he didn't) because of SHIELD policies. And, above all else, she was his partner. It had taken a year for her to even begin to trust him, and he wasn't going to fuck things up with her by, well, fucking her.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Clint wondered, his eyes fixed on her bent arm as she pulled her hair into a loose bun.

"Uh...not really. It's already healed, so..." The silence in the room was awkward and uncomfortable, neither of them knew what to do or say so they both just kind of looked at each other. Clint closed the space between them a minute or two later and took her broken arm in his hands, running his calloused fingers gingerly over the protruding bone. He was more than surprised when Natasha didn't flinch or pull away and instead relaxed when he touched her.

"About my freakout earlier..." She started to say, nervously shifting on her feet, but Clint cut her off.

"Don't worry about it." He told her. Silence fell between them again, Clint still stroking her arm soothingly, but this time the silence wasn't so tense. It was comfortable. Eventually, Natasha pulled her arm away and turned to leave, but Clint stopped her.

"How do you do all this, Tasha?" He asked, grabbing her waist and spinning her around so they were facing each other again.

"What do you mean?" Her previously calm mask hardened as she drew back into herself defensively.

"How do you keep doing this job after shit like that happens to you?" He gestured to her bent arm as he spoke. Her only response was a deadly glare as she crossed her arms. Clint sighed frustratedly at her silence, but didn't push the subject.

"Alright, off limits, I guess." He conceded grumpily when she still didn't say anything. "At least let me give you a ride home." Natasha rolled her eyes, but her glare softened.

"Fine." They both walked at a leisurely pace set by Natasha through the base, her bent arm and hospital attire earning some wandering looks, but by now, Natasha had learned to ignore them. They didn't speak at all on their way to Natasha's place, it was slightly tense, but not unbearable or uncomfortable. It was a short ride to Natasha's apartment, and when they got there, Clint followed her inside.

"What are you doing?" Natasha asked as Clint climbed out of the car with her. They both looked genuinely confused by the actions of the other.

"I'm supposed to look after you until they reset your arm." He told her sternly. She, for once, didn't argue with him trying to look after her though he suspected it was probably just because she was tired. She simply shrugged as she unlocked the outside door to her apartment and made her way up to her apartment.

Natasha's apartment looked drastically different from when he had last seen it over a year ago. Instead of being relatively barren, it was thoroughly furnished, walls painted and everything. He had to admit, she had a knack for interior decorating as he took in her modern, but homey feeling home that he thought was simply not fitting of the Natasha he knew. But, then again, he didn't really know her all that well.

"I'm going to shower, make yourself at home." She called lazily to him as she disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later he heard the shower running and he finally relaxed. He wandered around for a bit, and eventually settled on her couch and picked up a copy of The Counte of Monte Cristo that has been resting on the coffee table.

Meanwhile, Natasha was thoroughly enjoying her hot shower. She woke up feeling disgusting, her oily hair stuck to her face and a nasty bitter taste was in her mouth. She took her time in getting clean, in no hurry to face Clint again. The fact that he had been there when she had woken up had rattled her. The fact that he was still here rattled her even more. She could never get a clear read on Clint, and everything he did confused her. She was not really in the mood to deal with him now, but she didn't have it in her to argue now so she was stuck with his insistent ass until she got her arm reset.

An hour later Natasha emerged from the shower, smirking slightly as Clint who was absorbed in her book. She threw on a t-shirt and some sweatpants, jamming a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in her pocket before leaving her room.

"I'm going to step outside for a minute." She told him as she opened a window and ducked out onto the fire escape. Clint looked up from his book in time to see her step through the window and he stood up and followed her out.

"I didn't know you smoked." He said a bit surprised as she lit a cigarette and took a long drag from it, closing her eyes and savoring every bit of it. Smoking always calmed her down and helped her relax.

"I don't often. Though it seems I do more and more lately." She told him airily, her usually sharp eyes unfocused as she leaned heavily against the metal railing.

"Your apartment looks a lot different from when I last saw it." He commented offhandedly. Natasha took another long drag and shrugged.

"Well, I figure it might as well be nice if I'm staying." Clint smiled widely at that. She was staying. Clint was never sure if she was going to still bolt on him, even after a year, but now he knew she was staying here and it made him unreasonably happy.

"You look like an idiot, Barton." Natasha snapped at him when she caught him smiling at her.

"Don't care Tasha, you're staying." He shot back excitedly. Natasha rolled her eyes and took another drag from her cigarette.

"Expecting me to walk out you, then?" Her tone was oddly somber, and Clint couldn't figure out if it was because she was tired or from something else. His smile faded and he pulled on a more serious expression.

"Not anymore, Nat." He told her softly, meeting her eyes. He couldn't read what he saw in them, but it gave him hope for their partnership and their friendship nonetheless.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sorry this took a bit longer than I intended to. I kinda hit a bit of writer's block halfway through. But, thanks everybody for your awesome reviews and like/follows. It means a ton, you guys are awesome.**

They remained silent until Natasha finished her cigarette and took out another. She tapped it a few times on the railing before bringing it to her lips, lighter in hand. She hesitated before lighting it and took it out of her mouth.

"What time do they want me back at medical?" She asked Clint.

"In an hour." He told her. Natasha sighed at put the cigarette back in her mouth and lit it. She took a long drag and let it out slowly, the smoke curling artfully from her lips.

"You really hate hospitals, don't you?" Natasha tensed and shut her eyes, gripping the railing hard.

"You could say that." She replied tersely, knuckles turning white over the railing. Clint took a step closer to Natasha and placed a hand on her back, running his thumb over her spine and she relaxed, leaning back into him and resting her head against his shoulder. Clint took Natasha's broken in arm in his other hand, turning it over, examining her odd injury carefully.

"Is it because of the people who made this possible?" It wasn't so much of a question as a statement. Natasha simply nodded as her response as she took another drag from her cigarette. There was a long stretch of silence as Natasha finished her cigarette, only after she had put it out did she speak up.

"You know that whole 'super-solider' thing that the US had goin' on in the forties?" She asked somewhat nervously.

"Yeah, SHIELD's got a pretty big stake in it. It's been a while since I heard any talk about it at base though." Clint continued to rub Natasha's back softly even as she stiffened at his words. "I'm going to guess Russia had some stake in it all too." He tacked on softly at the end.

"Of course they did." Natasha snapped bitterly, then relaxed as she took a deep breath. "But, it was only designed to make us more resilient." She continued. "They were afraid if they made us stronger we would overpower them. Turns out that they didn't ever have to worry about the _we_, considering I was the only one of the test batch who survived the injections." She elected to not tell him that she wasn't the only test batch. There were some things that SHIELD just didn't need to know about the Red Room.

"Did it hurt?" Clint asked as Natasha turned to face him and leaned against the railing.

"They rewrote my genetic code. What do you think?" She shot back sarcastically.

"Sorry." He amended. "Stupid question." They lapsed back into silence. Clint was loving the moment though, being both relieved and grateful that they weren't fighting today.

"Well," Natasha began, looking up at Clint with mischief in her eyes. Clint hated that look. "now you know why I hate hospitals, what's your excuse?" Clint was taken aback by her question.

"What?" Natasha rolled her eyes at him.

"It's obvious you hate hospitals. You patch yourself up or have me do it for you whenever possible and always check yourself out of medical early when you end up there." That was true actually, Clint wasn't fond of hospitals or doctors at all, and Natasha was clearly his medic of choice when it came to most injuries. He should've know she'd notice.

"If you must know, it's just a series of bad encounters from my circus days. I lost a lot of trust for doctors back then." He explained, her face when he said 'circus' was priceless though. It was a cross between amusement, and utter confusion.

"You were in a circus?" She practically bounced with excitement, her face smiling widely. He smiled a bit too, though more because of her than reminiscing his circus years.

"Yeah. It's actually where I learned to shoot, believe it or not." He told her and her jaw practically hit the floor.

"No." She said disbelievingly and he nodded. "You were a circus wonder-boy?" Again, Clint nodded and she laughed.

Natasha was practically hysterical at the thought of her partner in a circus. She was confident that Clint had her beat on the sheer weirdness of their pasts. She, never in a million years, would've guessed that he'd learn how to shoot in a circus.

"Oh, god, that's priceless." Clint only smiled at her, letting her enjoy the moment. The circus hadn't been the best of times for him, but he did agree with her that it was funny that he ended up there. Maybe he'd actually tell her what it was like one day. He hadn't even told Bobbi, but he had a feeling that if anyone could understand what it was like, it would be Natasha.

"Are you quite finished?" He asked amusedly as her laughter died down. She took a deep breath and stilled, a smile still etched into her features.

"Yeah, I'm good." She said after a minute, then ducked through the window back into her apartment. "C'mon Wonder Boy, we've got to get back to base." She called over her shoulder as she pulled her leg through.

"Dear god, if you keep calling me Wonder Boy I'm going to punch you." He called back, climbing through the window and shutting it behind him.

"Consider it payback for every variation of my name you've ever called me." Clint sighed and rolled his eyes. He was going to be stuck being called Wonder Boy now, goddamn it. Natasha ducked into her room and emerged a minute later in a pair of jeans instead of her sweatpants, and slipped into a pair of flats by her front door. They rode in silence again, as usual, back to base and made their way back to medical. Natasha tensed gradually with every step towards the double doors until she looked like a spring itching to be released when they pushed through the doors.

"Relax, Tasha. You're going to be fine, and I'll be right here." Natasha seemed to relax a bit at Clint's words, but only minutely. Still, it was progress. They spoke briefly with a nurse at the front desk before being lead to get Natasha's arm x-rayed so they knew where and how to break her arm. An hour later she was sitting on a medical table, mentally preparing herself to have her arm snapped again by the man standing not 5 feet away from her. Clint was there too, looking more nervous than she was about the whole situation. But, and hour and a good deal of pain later, Natasha was set and ready to go. By the end of the night she would be as good as new.

Clint drove Natasha home and they parted relatively unceremoniously when she got out of the car. There was a definite shift in their relationship that day, and a big one too, but neither of them were keen on acknowledging it so they carried on as if nothing had changed between them. Clint made sure Natasha made it inside before driving himself home. They didn't see each other for another week until they were called into a mission.

"How's your french?" Coulson asked as he tossed both of his two agents a standard manila file folder.

"Parfait, comme toujours." Natasha replied without looking up.

"Comme c'est le mien, coup de chaud." Clint shot her a sarcastic look, and she smiled slyly at him. Natasha was impressed, she knew Clint spoke a few languages, not as many as her, but not that many people did, but she didn't know he spoke french. Or that he spoke french well.

"Impressionnant, Barton." She complimented, eyes still skimming over the file pages.

"J'essaie, Tasha." He had a small smile on his lips, compliments from Natasha were a rare and treasured thing to him. Clint looked up to see Coulson staring at them in disbelief. Usually his agents were trying to kill each other during briefing, this was a welcome change to the usually tense meetings.

"Good. You're target is a political spy that's infiltrated the French government. You'll have access to the target at a charity ball at Versailles. Get her alone and eliminate her. Easy enough, call when you're ready for extraction. Your plane leaves in an hour." They both nodded, engrossed already in the file, and Coulson took his leave. After about 5 minutes, Natasha got up and left to.

"See you in a few." She mumbled as she closed her file and pushed back out of her chair. Clint nodded, still going over the papers. He was a slower reader than Natasha, she always ended up leaving first. When he finished reading he started on his routine that, no doubt, mimicked Natasha's. He picked up his tactical and weapons from weapons storage and headed home to pack for the mission. He exchanged a few brief words with Bobbi, but he was kind of behind schedule so their goodbye was brief. He was just arriving at the hangar as Natasha was walking up onto the plane with her things. He really did need to work on his efficiency when it came to getting ready for missions.

Natasha saw Clint getting out of his car as she walked onto their small plane and smirked. She was always ahead of him, and it was oddly satisfying. It was kind of a petty thing to be competitive over, but she liked beating him. She waited on the top step for him to catch up to her.

"Are you ever going to get tired of me beating you?" Clint rolled his eyes, and shook his head slightly at her.

"You know, not everything's a competition, Tasha." He pointed out, but Natasha only smiled.

"Now, where would be the fun in that?" Clint rolled his eyes at her, but didn't say anything more as they threw their bags on a chair, and hung garment bags with their formal clothing on a hook.

"So what will the lovely Miss Romanoff be wearing to this event?" He mused aloud as she smoothed out the floor-length bag. Clint reached for the zipper, but she smacked his hand away and he looked at her quite puzzled.

"It's a surprise, Barton." She told him sternly. Clint raised his eyes questioningly at his partner. She sighed and pulled him into the seat across from her.

"It's new. I'm excited, and I want to do a 'big reveal' type thing." She explained a little timidly, not meeting is eyes. Clint smiled, taking her small hands in his and she looked up at him.

"Whatever makes you happy, Tasha." He told her, completely serious. If she wanted to do something that was completely ridiculous and frivolous, however out of character for her it was, damn right he was going to let her do it. If something that was 'normal' made her happy, he wanted it for her more than anything.

Natasha's happiness seemed very closely related to his own. He hated to admit it, but whenever she smiled or laughed, it made his day. This was a girl who had seen and done countless horrors, but with Clint, she still smiled. And, it made his heart melt. He was slowly beginning to realize that Natasha was his weakness, and it was going to get them into trouble one day.

Natasha didn't really say anything in response, and they settled into their usual comfortable silence on the plane ride over. Natasha seemingly lost in thought, just staring out the window, and Clint staring at her. About four hours later they began to talk about the mission and what they would do.

After about an hour of intense conversation they had worked out a rough plan that was very similar to that of their first mission, but reversed. Clint would find and seduce the mark, getting her back to either her place or their hotel, while Natasha provided backup and made sure he was clear to get out. Clint not-so-secretly hated the idea of being forced to seduce somebody, but he would have to learn to deal with it to make this work.

Half and hour before their plane landed, they both changed into civilian clothes. As per usual, Natasha looked like a freaking runway model in her girly clothes. She wore a sleeveless navy blue dress with a high neckline that came down about mid-thigh. The front and back of the dress had white horizontal stripes white while the sides had vertical white stripes. And of course, a pair of killer nude pumps that made her legs look like they were carved from marble.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing you like this: unarmed." Natasha chuckled as she sat back down.

"Not quite, Barton." She said mischievously, pulling up her dress to not only reveal a dangerous amount of her thighs, but also her favorite gun strapped down to her leg under her dress.

"Old habits and all that." She stated simply, pulling her dress back down to its proper length. Clint wasn't at all surprised she was packing, but he gave her a pointed look anyways as he got up to go change out of his tactical.

"This gala's in one week, right?" Natasha asked as Clint took his seat across from her upon his return.

"Yeah, why?" Natasha let out a breath and picked up the guest list, her eyes darting over the page quickly.

"I need a date." She mumbled, looking over the names and RSVP's carefully. Clint's brown knitted together and he sat forward on his seat, crossing his arms.

"Why do you need a date?" He asked a bit harsher than he intended. Natasha finally glanced up at him and saw his stern body language and didn't even try to hid her confused reaction to his response. Her confusion quickly morphed into annoyance and she went back to her list.

"Because, unlike you, I can't show up to a gala without an escort. This is high-society and I'm a woman, I have to have a man. And, it's not like you can be my date because you're supposed to be hooking up with our target." She explained, letting her frustration with Clint seep into her voice. Clint didn't respond, but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. She simply rolled her eyes and went back to work. A few minutes later she finally found what she was looking for.

"Alright, Blaize Frances. RSVP'd as an unregistered plus one. And, bonus, he's a duke." She was talking to herself more than Clint, she knew he didn't like this. But, then again, she wasn't too fond of the idea of Clint doing the seducing here, but she wasn't going to bitch about it.

"You couldn't have picked someone a little more conspicuous, Tasha?" He asked irritably.

"My options are a little limited here." Natasha snapped at him. "So, unless you want me to be groped by a sixty year old that will no doubt want to make me light myself on fire, the duke it is. Deal with it." She was gripping the armrests of her seat tight, her jaw tight and her eyes dead cold. Clint opened his mouth to respond, but Natasha quickly cut him off.

"Listen, I am done with your goddamn protectiveness. I did this job for years before you ever walked into the picture. I know what I'm doing and I can handle myself. If you can't get it into your thick head that I don't need a bodyguard, then we're done." Natasha knew that was harsh, perhaps a little harsher than she intended, but she still meant every word. She wasn't going to work with someone who doubted her and would let personal emotions interfere with getting the job done.

"Could you just drop the damn ice queen act for five fucking minutes, Natasha?" He shouted at her, throwing his arms up in frustration. "I doubt doubt you, at all. In fact, I'm the only one at SHIELD right now who actually believes in you."

"Then why are you always in my goddamn business?" She shot back heatedly.

"Because you're my partner and my friend, Natasha. I fucking care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt again because of something stupid and dangerous."

"How the fuck is conning some random guy stupid _or _dangerous? Because for me, it's practically routine. You seriously need to learn to keep your goddamn emotions is check, Barton." She warned, dangerously. Her whole body was rigid and tight, from her lean legs to her clenched jaw she was pulled taunt like a bowstring ready to fire. Clint's own posture mimicked his partner's as they squared off against each other.

"Why are you always so fucking eager to throw yourself at some random guy to do the job, like there's no other way, huh? You know, I'm beginning to think you actually like being some prick's personal barbie doll." Clint spat angrily at her. He was rewarded by hard punch to the jaw from Natasha, and was shoved back against the seat a moment later, her small hand closing tightly on his throat. He looked up and met Natasha's eyes, they blazed with all her pent-up rage and frustration. But, there was something else in them too, something Clint would have given anything not to have seen or caused: hurt. She leaned forward, until they were inched apart.

"Don't you _ever _presume you know anything about me, Barton." She hissed through her teeth before roughly releasing him, grabbing her things and stalking off to get as far away from him as possible in the tiny plane, her heels clicking sharply on the floor as she left. Natasha settled herself on the opposite end of the small plane with her back to Clint, though she could still feel his eyes on her the whole time. She was beyond pissed at Clint. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been this angry, her whole body was shaking with energy as she fought to keep herself under control. The Black Widow was scratching under her skin, her mind yearning to snap back into it's old ways of thinking that had been etched into her brain long ago. She shut her eyes tightly and focused solely on shoving the dark thought out of her head, thinking of the problem in front of her instead.

She needed as much information on her target as possible in the next few hours. That would mean she would have to cash in an old favor, but couldn't get the ball rolling until the plan landed. She occupied herself then with the smaller details of the mission, only broken from her thoughts when the pilot announced their descent. Natasha gathered her things quickly, shoving the loose papers lazily back into their file, jamming the file into before tossing it, and her duffle over her shoulder. She stubbornly ignored Clint as they got off the plane and made their way to the car even though she saw him try to start saying something multiple times. She also ignored his slightly surprised expression as she absentmindedly climbed into the passenger seat of the car, leaving him to drive. Usually they argued for a solid five minutes before determining who would get to drive. He got in without a word and set off for their hotel

About five minutes into their journey, Natasha pulled out both the mission file and her phone and started dialing a number, hesitating for a moment in the middle, brow furrowing and her mouth quirking to the side as she tried to remember the rest of the number. It clicked a few seconds later and she finished dialing and made the call. Clint looked at her questioningly, but she ignored him and he turned his attention, listening to the conversation next to him.

"It's Romanoff." Natasha stated the second the call was picked up on the other end. There was some shuffling and shouting in the background that was soon replaced by another person taking the phone.

"_It's been a while, Natasha. What can I do for you?_" It was a man on the other end, one Natasha was clearly on good terms with. Well, as good as someone like Natasha can be.

"Hey, Auggie. I need a favor." There was a small chuckle at the end of the line and Natasha smiled a bit.

"_Anything for our Golden Girl." _She flipped to the guest list in the file and found the name she was looking for in a second.

"I need you to give me any and all information you can find about a man named, Blaize Frances."

"_Anything specific, or just the generics?"_ Natasha bit down on her bottom lip as she thought for a moment.

"Only specific is where he'll be for the rest of the day today and tomorrow morning." She concluded after a minute.

"_This one going to end up dead too_" Both parties laughed and she shook her head, though only Clint could see that.

"Not this one. I've got bigger plans for him."

"_Lucky boy._" Clint tense a bit at the reply, and Natasha noticed. She shot him an intimidating glare before turning her attention to the man on the phone.

"When can you get me what I'm looking for?" The was a decent stretch of silence over the line, the sound of clacking keys being the only sound as they waited.

"_Give me an hour._" There was a certain kind of finality in his tone which Natasha seemed to appreciate.

"You are a god among men, Auggie. See you in an hour." She hung up and put both her phone and file back in her purse before leaning back in the seat, closing her eyes with a satisfied smile. Clint was dying to ask her about what just happened, but wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea. Natasha practically read his mind and, in a few minutes, explained her phone call.

"August Morey, I worked with him a little a while back. Owes me a favor. He works mainly in intelligence gathering, he's got a pretty impressive network running now. He's the fastest, cleanest, and easiest way to get information, if you can afford it, of course." Clint was a bit unnerved by her knowing him, and was more than interested in finding out why exactly he owed Natasha a favor, but quickly decided he didn't really want to know and left it alone.

The remainder of the ride was spent in harsh silence, not unusual, but Clint still hated it. Natasha was indifferent, not fond of conversation to begin with. They were staying a five-star hotel to help keep up the appearance that they belonged to the high society that they would be infiltrating in a few days. When they made it up the their room, Natasha sent off a text message to Auggie, it read:

**Park Hyatt Paris, room 1012**

To be expected, there was no reply, and Natasha spent the next forty minute pacing around the room out of sheer boredom. She couldn't do anything without the information she was waiting on, and she definitely wasn't as patient as Clint. When there was a knock on the door exactly an hour from her phone call she practically leapt to the door, removing her gun from her holster in the process, and carefully swung the door open.

**P.S. Sorry if the French translation is a bit off. I did it myself, hoping that three years of French taught me something. But, if it's off feel free to help me correct it. **


	14. Chapter 14

To be expected, there was no reply, and Natasha spent the next forty minute pacing around the room out of sheer boredom. She couldn't do anything without the information she was waiting on, and she definitely wasn't as patient as Clint. When there was a knock on the door exactly an hour from her phone call she practically leapt to the door, removing her gun from her holster in the process, and carefully swung the door open.

"Natasha!" The man exclaimed when his eyes landed on the woman in front of him. He was reasonably tall, like Clint, but thinner and more lanky. He had a mess of brown hair on his head that hung down just above his eyes framed by thick, black glasses. The man was probably only a few years older than Natasha, so still pretty young. Natasha holstered her gun after looking over him carefully, and held out her hand which he took and shook enthusiastically.

"Auggie, it's nice to see you." She was considerably more sober than Auggie, but more animated than she normally was. She opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in.

"I've got everything you wanted, and more. He was surprisingly easy to dig stuff up one, despite his status." He stopped talking the moment he noticed Clint in the room, and immediately went rigid.

"He's okay." Natasha assured him. "This is my partner, Agent Barton." Clint could hear the strain in her voice on the word partner, though Auggie seemed not to have noticed. Auggie relaxed again and picked up his excited chatter with Natasha.

"Everything you could ever want to know about this guy is in here." He told her proudly as he handed her an unmarked manila folder.

"Thanks August, I owe you one." She smiled gratefully at him as they shook hands one more time before he eased out of their room.

"Anytime, Natasha." With that, and a small smile, he left, Natasha closing the door soundly behind him with her eyes fixed on the folder in her hands. She immediately turned on her heels and stepped over the back of the couch so she was standing on the cushions, before folding her legs underneath her and landing softly in a cross legged position with the folder in her lap. One thing Clint found most amusing about Natasha was her complete disregard for furniture. She walked and stepped on and over everything and anything if it meant a straight path to her destination. It often reminded him of being a kid and playing "the floor is lava" game, though her supposed that might be something Natasha had never experienced.

Clint watched her carefully as she slid into her research mode, like she always did with a new file in front of her. Her eyes were in razor sharp focus as they quickly darted back and forth as she took in the new information. She absentmindedly twirled a piece of her red hair around her left pointer finger while she flipped through the papers.

"So, am I going to get an explanation for your friend, or..." Clint started, breaking Natasha out of her laser-like focus on the work in front of her, though she didn't look up at him.

"No." She replied forcefully, turning a page a little too violently for it to be casual. Clint thought about just letting this one go but he figured, since Natasha was already pissed at him, he might as well go for it.

"So, I'm supposed to just trust some random guy from your past? That's questionable, at best." Natasha was silent, her eyes still going over the information in front of her. After a minute or so she stood up and closed the file, tossing it on the coffee table, and grabbed her purse. She dug around until her fingers closed around the small object at the bottom she was looking for: contact lenses. Natasha, of course had perfect vision, but these were a specialized piece of equipment that Clint and Natasha were given a few missions ago by SHIELD during an undercover mission that Natasha had held onto. They were small, undetectable cameras that allowed Clint to see what she saw from a remote location on a computer. Natasha figured that she'd save herself an earful by volunteering to wear them instead of having to deal with Clint's insistent nature.

"Trust him or not, I don't much care either way, Barton. That's your problem, not mine." She told him tiredly as she popped the contacts in her eyes. Clint eyed her suspiciously as she grabbed her computer, quickly looked something up online, and booted up the software that went along with the contacts. Clint was about to say something when she set her computer in front of him, but she quickly cut him off.

"Listen, Barton, I'm leaving. I'll be back in a few hours. No, I'm not asking permission, and no, I don't care about anything you have to say. So, deal with it." She practically snarled, her face only mere inches from his, her palms planted firmly on the armrests of the chair he was siting in. Clint didn't respond, instead keeping his features blank and steady. A moment later, Natasha stood up straight again, straightened her dress and left. Clint barely registered, even with his sharp eyes, the small black bud she slipped into her ear when she brushed her hair back as she swept out of the the door closed, Clint sprang out of his chair to grab her counterpart, jamming is painfully in his ear before returning to his seat.

Meanwhile, Natasha was making her way through the long halls and out the lobby of the hotel. She hailed a cab and had it take her to a place called Café de Flore. From the information Auggie had given her, her mark stopped in almost everyday around 10, like clockwork. She figured it was as good a place as any to get the ball rolling on this this thing. She arrived at the café around 10:15. It was a little later than she would have hoped, but she still had plenty of time to find Frances and figure out how to casually engage him in polite conversation. The second Natasha stepped out of the cab she willed her cold, hard, outer shell to melt away into a softer, sweeter woman that matched her chosen new identity.

Natasha's identity wasn't particularly original, but it she didn't need it to be. She needed something more stable for this job, and this role was comfortable to her, like the feel of her favorite gun in her hands. She slipped into a well worn, and well established persona she had spent years developing throughout her Red Room and freelance years. It was the perfect lure for men, exotic enough to be new and exciting, but not so much that it made her story unbelievable, she even got to keep her own name. She was a reasonably accomplished and acclaimed principal ballet dancer for a second tier ballet company back in Russia. For a ballet dancer to be in Paris made perfect sense, so she wouldn't really need to justify a trip here, and she already had the skill to put on a demonstration for anyone who cared to challenge her.

Natasha Romanoff, back in the Red Room, began creating this identity almost the second she became old enough to pass for an adult, which for her, was around 14 or 15, though she couldn't remember exactly. From then on, with the aide of various tech-savvy individuals, she created her fictional character. Through the magic that is the internet, she created an entire fake person, complete with back story and dance history for all the world to see. Literally, if you google Natasha Romanoff, you get pictures of her dancing and it brings you to the official website of a a ballet company featuring her that also didn't exist. Not only was is convenient to keep her own name for her own memory's sake, but it also kept interested parties off her back. If people found her real name, they could look that name up online, but you can only get so far tracking somebody that doesn't actually exist. Clint knew about that one personally, having fallen for the trap early in his search for Natasha. However, he quickly got himself out of it, and moved onto to finding where she really was. But, it was helpful, being able to hide behind her fake identity, and most people weren't as clever as him.

Natasha stepped out of her cab a little uneasily knowing that Clint could see and hear everything that would happen here having heard her comm buzz to life in her ear as the cab pulled away from the hotel, but she didn't have time to dwell on that. She would do this job, and she would do it well despite her partner's unhappiness about it. Her eyes locked onto Frances instantly when she scanned over the crowd of people seated in front of the cafe. He was a reasonably handsome man dressed in a fine suit completely engrossed in what looked like a copy of the book Lolita. This whole situation was beyond perfect, she though. Who better to discuss classic Russian literature with than a woman from the old county herself?

Natasha smiled slyly as she wove through the seating smoothly, purposely passing Frances' table. When she did, she ran her hand over the edge of his table, her perfectly polished nails catching his attention. Frances looked up from his book at her as she passed and was immediately caught in her web. Natasha could do that to a guy. Frances watched her intently as she ordered her drink and seated herself at a table not far from him, but perfectly within his eyesight, and took out a book from her bag. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, he noted as he watched her. She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, beautiful in a classic sort of way. She wasn't your typical stick-thin, bleach-blonde, model type. She looked like an old Hollywood movie star with soft features and incredible curves. Though, her most distinguishable quality was her deep red hair that hung in beautiful waves between her shoulder, and frames her pale face nicely.

The young woman had a certain aura about her though. Something about her made her seem distant, and unattainable. Of course, this only made Frances more curious about her. Hey enjoyed a challenge, more so than an easier woman. He preferred a woman with depth, that could intrigue and stimulate him, and he knew that this flame-headed woman was just that. Frances sat pretending to read his book, but really watching her for some time. Every movement she made stirred his curiosity further. From the way her dainty hands turned the pages of her book to the way her full, pink lips parted when she sipped delicately from her cup, her tongue occasionally darting out to catch a fallen drop of her drink, to the way her deep green eyes darted across the lines of text in her book, she held him in rapt attention. And, Natasha knew it too. More than that, she reveled in it.

Natasha not-so-secretly loved conning her marks more than anything, and it was, without a doubt, what she was best at. She loved the feeling of absolute power and total control over another human being. It was ultimately more satisfying than just killing them, or even interrogations. Conning was something bigger, something more than just carrying out a simple task. It was proving that you were, without a doubt, better, smarter, and more clever than another person. Conning, where Natasha came from, proved your worth in this business. If you couldn't lie and con your way across the board, you were useless. And, people there was no room for those who are useless in the Red Room. Natasha took to the skill easily from a young age, and like all other things, quickly mastered it. More than anything, she loved the sick rush of power that came with a successful con. The feeling that you get when you take a person's control away entirely was like nothing else. No drug could beat the feeling of absolute power it gave her. And, being a woman gave her a unique, and powerful advantage. She was a classic femme fatale, her stunning looks and quicksilver tongue proving to be the downfall of many, but she was one that couldn't be beaten. That's what made her special.

Blaize Frances would be an easy mark. He was a child from a family that afforded him both the wealth and means to do just about anything he wanted with a particular taste for exotic women. Natasha could fill that role nicely. She traced the rim of her cup seemingly absentmindedly as she read, glancing up every so often at Frances. Seduction is a subtle art, one that takes a lot of practice to master and differs greatly due to the human element of it. Sometimes it paid to be a hardass or tough, there was a market for that, though it wasn't here. Here she needed to be a softer, more pliable woman. She would have to be as enamored with him as he would be with her, laugh at his jokes, for fall for his charms, all the while getting him to fall for her own. Everything she did she did for a reason, every action was precisely chosen. Seduction is subtle, it's about your body as a whole, not just outward appearance, and your mind as well. Tracing her cup shifted attention to her deft hands and slender fingers. The way she sipped her coffee highlighted her lips and mouth as well as her agile tongue. None of these actions were obvious in any way, they seemed downright ordinary to most. But, when you combine them, you draw subtle attention to some of the most feminine and sexual parts of the body.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle." Natasha looked up from her book looking taken aback to see Franced standing before. From this point Natasha would cease to be herself, all her actions and words spoken would be that of an individual entirely separate from who she really was.

"Bonjour, Monsieur." He voice was soft, almost sweet and it through Clint, who was listening in on all this, for a moment. There was none of her usual hardness, not that perpetual steely edge her voice usually had. Even when she was calm and honest her voice was still firm, but he heard no trace of that here. She sounded almost alien to him. Frances inquired about her book, and Natasha responded nervously, purposefully tripping over her french a bit until he suggested they switch to english. She smiled at him gratefully.

"I'm sorry, my french is a bit rusty." This part surprised Clint even more, as well as Frances. Natasha slipped into her english a russian accent. Not so heavy that you would have difficulties understanding her, but not insignificant either. She was really going all out for this one.

"No need to apologize, I can tell by your accent you are not from around here. What brings you to Paris?" Frances asked with a small smile as he slid into the seat across from her. Natasha smiled as he did so, she had him.

The pair chatted idly for about an hour, during which Natasha went through her cover story, the all to familiar words of her cover story flowing smoothly from her lips as they did. Frances was more than impressed and intrigued by her and the conversation was easy. By the time Frances had to leave, he had a meeting or something to be getting to, he was already asking to see her again. The two of them made plans to meet again the next morning and went their separate ways, Natasha returned to her hotel with Clint and he drove off to wherever his meeting was. Natasha dreaded having to return to her partner, she would have to drop out of character again when she was more comfortable just staying as she was for the duration of her con. She hated having to snap in and out of it, doing so made the chances of her slipping up skyrocket.

"Why the accent?" Clint asked as she opened the door. He was basically just as she left him, still sitting on the chair opposite the couch, but he was more relaxed and less rigid now.

"Well, for starters, my cover story has my current residency in Russia." Natasha began as she kicked her shoes off and threw her bag on the coffee table before lowering herself onto the couch. "Second of all, it wasn't even an accent."

"What?" Clint sat up more, confusion painting his tanned features.

"I mean, I actually talk like that. This, what you're hearing, that's an accent. Two decades in Russia doesn't leave you with an American accent." She informed him matter of factly. Clint was still plainly in shock upon hearing this.

"So for the past what, year, you've been faking your accent? Why?" Natasha sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Well, would I want to be Russian at SHIELD. The whole organization is distrusting of my country as a whole, and for a solid 6 months, most of you were still convinced I was a spy and called me KGB behind my back. Hell, most people still do. It only made sense for me to distance myself as possible from my country. Americans are more trusting of those who are like them, sounding American helps." She shrugged, like faking an accent for over a year was the most normal thing in the world and Clint supposed, that for her, that probably was considered normal.

"So, the Russian? That's really you then?" Natasha nodded her response and Clint sat back in his seat again. "For the record, I like the Russian better."

"Is that so?" She quirked an eyebrow in his direction, a bit surprised with him. But then again, he always surprised her. "And why's that?"

"Look, Natasha, I know who you are and where you came from, well, better than most at least. And, I don't care." It was Natasha's turn to be confused. "I don't care about where you came from, you're here now and that's what matters. You don't have to hide yourself from me." Natasha looked into her partners eyes and was completely floored by what she saw. She saw nothing but earnest truth in his eyes. Clint truly meant what he had said and Natasha didn't know how to react. For the first time in her entire life, Natasha was speechless.


End file.
